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MAXTONE’S POINT SCHOOL-HOUSE. 




Oliver ^ ^ 

AND HIS 

^ ^ Friends 

By 1^ y ' 

DAVID WILLSON ANDERSON 



Ccrrcmutcl^d. ‘4''^ C 

Cbc Inland publtsblng Company 



1200 

Copyright, 1897, 

By the inland PUBLISHING CO. 


The Moore & Langen Printing Co., 
Terre Haute. 


PREFATORY NOTE 


On presenting this little book to the public, it 
becomes my most pleasant duty to tender my 
warmest thanks to Mrs. Emma Mont. McRae, of 
Purdue University, for kindly suggestions; to 
Arthur Byrns, of LaFayette, Indiana, and B. F. 
McCutcheon, of Chicago, for making the illustra- 
tions; and to Miss Evaleen Stein, of LaFayette, 
Indiana, for preparing the cover design. 

“ Oliver and His Friends ” is sent out into the 
world to do good and give pleasure. It is de- 
signed to inspire in those who read it an un- 
flinching loyalty to the good, the beautiful, the 
true; to show the mild, mighty power of kind- 
ness; to teach the resistless influence of true 
manliness. That it may accomplish this precious 
mission is the fond wish of 


The author. 




INTRODUCTION 


In the study of a normal hoy may he found in epit- 
ome the possibilities of the race. As his tendencies ^ 
his aspirations^ his struggles are discovered^ it becomes 
more possible to measure the meaning of life. 

In a new community ^ opportunity exists for the play 
of the finer sentiments. Life is full of hardships for 
the hoy as ivell as the man. The amenities of life take 
on even a higher significance than when associations 
have become so conventionalized as to lose something of 
the ingenuousness of the untutored goodness of heart. 

Oliver and his friends come to us as a group of real 
boys and girls having both strength and weakness. 
There is a wholesomeness and manliness about the 
hero which will make right-minded boys and girls his 
friends. He is a boy with a mission without knowing 
it. He does not feel that the whole world depends upon 
him for its happiness, yet he does his full share toward 
making his part of it a garden spot bearing, rare blos- 
soms of kindliness and goodness. 

The boy, the teacher, the parent who follows the story 
of Oliver and His Friends’^ will have a truer view 
of the diviner things that may come into all lives. 

EMMA MONT. McRAE. 




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V, 


List of Chapteks 

Page 

Chapter I.— A Game of Tiger 9 

Chapter II.— A Strange School Visitor 25 

Chapter III.— Nig “Stands By” Oliver 40 

Chapter IV.— Mr. Sumley Goes Boat Riding 55 

Chapter V.— Timothy Snidery and His Father Get Acquainted 71 

Chapter VI.— The Nutting Party 86 

Chapter VII.— The Shipwrecked Merchant 99 

Chapter VIII.— Nellie Directs a Stranger to the Robertaine 
Cottage 113 


List of Pictures 

Maxtone’s Point School-House Frontispiece ^ 

Tim 11 

Mr. Sumley 13 

Nellie IS 

Nig 17 

Oliver 21 

Tim and His Father Get Acquainted Facing page 83 

The Panther Facing page 96 ^ 

Return of Oliver’s Father Facing page 115 


/ 



OLIVER AND HIS FRIENDS 


CHAPTER I 
A Game of Tiger 

One Autumn morning about fifty years 
ago, when the trees were putting on their 
robes of purple and gold, a boy carrying 
a turtle in his hand slyly came out of the 
bushes which fringed the yard of the rude 
school-house at Maxtone’s Point and ap- 
proached the door. The path by which 
the boy approached wound from side to 
side to miss the stumps, of which there 
were many in the yard. The squirming 
turtle was hidden under the boy’s coat as 
he peered into the school-house through 
a crevice between the logs. Sure enough, 
no one was inside; so he raised the wood- 


— 10 — 


en latch, went in and put the turtle into 
a part of the teacher’s desk which con- 
tained the copy-books of the pupils and 
was closed by a small door. This done 
he slipped away, thinking, no doubt, what 
fun there would be when the master 
should discover the trick and feeling sure 
that no one had seen him. As he will 
have much to do with the history of this 
school, a word about him will not be out 
of place. 

Timothy Snideby was the evil genius of 
the Maxtone’s Point school. Cunning 
and smart, no one could get a lesson quick- 
er than he — if he tried. He was always 
ready for any mischief if he could see a 
way to avoid evil consequences to himself. 
It made little difference to him who bore 
the blame so long as he was safe. Singu- 
larly enough, for the first three or four 
weeks of school under a new teacher, he 
would be a favorite. So teachers were al- 
ways slow to fix blame upon him at first. 
He never caused trouble by fighting with 
his playmates. Such boys do not fight, 
though they often cause others to do so. 


— 11 — 


After he had done the sneaking act — 
no manly boy will do things behind one’s 
back which he is 
afraid to do before 
one’s face — and 
had again passed 
into the wood, he 
thought himself 
safe from discov- 
ery. He could not 
know that a pair 
of honest blue eyes 
saw his approach, 
saw the turtle in 
his hand and cor- 
rectly guessed the rest. 

But here comes the master, his vigorous 
step striking the beaded dew from its del- 
icate hold on grass-blade and flower-stem. 
Andrew Sumley was teaching his first 
term at Maxtone’s Point though he had 
had considerable experience in other 
schools. Maxtone’s Point was a little vil- 
lage situated a few miles above the mouth 
of White River, a beautiful stream of In- 
diana. The small steam-boats for which 



— 12 — 


the river was navigable to that point some- 
times stopped at the village landing for 
purposes of traffic, but with this excep- 
tion, the people of the village had little 
communication with the outside world. 
The spirit of progress came tardy to Max- 
tone’s Point and met a cold reception 
when it came. All the houses of the vil- 
lage were rude and uninviting; the school- 
house was the most rude and uninviting 
of them all. It stood on an out-of-the- 
way spot of ground, an outcast from 
among its straggling companions. A shal- 
low branch struggled for existence in 
front, another clamored for notice at the 
rear. They joined their waters a short 
distance south of the house and went 
tumbling away to fulfill their part in car- 
rying the commerce of the great river. 
Foolish little rivulet, so impatient to ex- 
change its play-life in the cool shade for 
work-life on the wide, unknown river! 
The school-house fronted west. The lit- 
tle point on the south, formed by the join- 
ing of the two branches, made part of the 
play-ground. On the north, the play- 


— 13 — 


ground was continuous with a great wood 
which extended many miles among the 
hills. 

When Mr. Sumley reached the door, he 
threw it wide open and left it so after he 
had entered. The morning was pleasant so 
he did not build a fire in the great, wide 
fire-place at the back of the room but open- 
ed the queer little windows and dusted the 
rough seats. 

Strict though the 
master certainly 
was, unkind and 
pettishly cross he 
was not. With no 
toleration for lit- 
tleness, meanness 
or trickery, he was 
ready to acknowl- 
edge nobleness and 
manliness. Like 
many another of 
his profession, his 
anger often mas- 
tered his reason, mk. sumley. 

and then, of course, he was liable to make 



— 14 — 


very grievous mistakes. Tall, spare built, 
with sandy hair, smooth face, gray eyes 
and stooping shoulders, he was by no 
means a pleasing personage to look upon ; 
and yet you couldnT help thinking that 
he would be a good man to have for a 
friend. 

His school was not very large, not very 
hard to govern, not very hard to teach as 
schools were taught in those days. His 
countenance was cheerful, his step light 
as he went about his morning’s work. 
Ah ! if he had only known of the turtle 
hidden away in his desk, he might have 
saved much trouble. He had looked over 
the copy-books and had “ set the copies ” 
the evening before, and, when he had 
finished sweeping and dusting, he sat by 
the door to smoke till the pupils should 
arrive. 

He knocked the ashes out of his pipe 
and put it away when he saw the first 
pupils coming. They were little Nellie 
Neff and her little brother Joe. Nellie 
crossed the branch on the plank, but Joe, 
to be a brave boy, waded. Nellie return- 


— 15 — 


ed the master’s greeting in so sweet a 
voice and with so cheerful a look that, 
had he been sad, his sadness must have 
flown away. Joe returned the greeting 
with a very, very low voice while his eyes 
were fastened on the floor. 

Mr. Sumley was looking over some 
problems at his desk when he felt a touch 
on his arm and a sweet voice said, “Here 
is an apple I brung you, teacher.” 

It was Nellie. 

Her voice was so 
pleasant and her 
smile so sweet that 
the master forgot to 
tell her she ought 
to say brought in- 
stead of brung. Be- 
sides she had already 
gone to play with 
some other girls who 
had by this time 
gathered. 

Surely, if Timothy Snideby was the 
evil genius of the school, Nellie Neff was 
the good angel. She was a real sunbeam 



— 16 — 


to Andrew Sumley. To look at him — 
big, strong, rough-appearing man that he 
was — and to remember how much he had 
drifted about the world, one would not 
think he cared anything about the smiles 
and tender words of children. But he 
did. It made him, all unconsciously to 
himself, perhaps, a much better and more 
refined man. How much good it is the op- 
portunity of even children to do ! 

‘‘ Good morning, teacher,” said a big, 
good-humored voice at the door. Look- 
ing, Mr. Sumley saw Thomas James Nig- 
gins. The master smiled as he saw the 
good-natured face thrust in at the door 
as if the boy had not time to come in. 
This was his way, however. He never 
did things as other people. He always 
did what folks did not expect him to do, 
sometimes ludicrous things and some- 
times things that proved him a genius. 
He was sometimes laughed at and of- 
ten warmly praised. Large, over-grown, 
warm-hearted, not easily angered, no one 
had more friends than this boy with the 
queer name — Thomas James Niggins. 


— 17 — 

This was not what his playmates called 
him, for they had taken the liberty of 
shortening his name to suit their fancy. 
When he appeared on the play-ground, 
he did not think of 
being called any- 
thing else than 
Tom Jim Nig, or 
simply. Nig, as he 
had been called 
since he first start- 
ed to school. Not- 
withstanding his 
open-hearted, odd 
disposition, he was 
the most daring 
and fearless boy of 
the school. His ap- 
pearance on the play-ground was th e re- 
fore welcomed with pleasure. 

When he appeared among the boys, a 
game which probably never had any 
name was in progress. It was played as 
follows : A large tree-top lay where it 
had fallen when the men had taken the 
trunk for lumber. In falling, this tree 



2 


— 18 — 


had bent down several smaller trees, 
which, with its own large branches, some 
of them high in the air, formed a very 
niaze of limbs. It was in this tree-top 
that the boys were playing. Some of them 
were playing that they were men trying 
to escape from various wild and ferocious 
beasts, such as ‘Higers ’’ and bears,” 
whose parts were played by two or three 
of the most active boys. Nig was a fa- 
mous tiger,” but coming after the game 
was started, he played a man.” Should 
“ a man ” be so unfortunate as to be 
caught he was immediately dragged away 
to the “ tiger’s den ” and “ eat up.” But, 
curiously enough, this did not seem to 
hurt him much, for, like the warriors in 
the Hall of Odin, he always came to life 
again. 

'' Come on,” called Nig. I’m not 
afeared of all the tigers in the woods.” 

As he sprang into the tree-top, two 
tigers ” followed him, pressing him so 
closely that he found all he could do to 
keep out of their way. 

There was one pass where a very high. 


— 19 — 


long limb of the tree-top had caught the 
limb of another tree in such a manner that 
one could, if he were active enough, climb 
the limb of the fallen tree, pass to the 
limb of the standing tree and thence to 
the ground. This was a very dangerous 
pass and none of the boys except Nig had 
ever attempted it. Being so closely press- 
ed now. Nig was compelled to take the 
dangerous pass or get caught. 

The two ^Higers” who were so closely 
pressing Nig were Oliver Robertaine, a 
handsome, blue-eyed boy of twelve, and 
Tony Neggits, a boy from one of those sin- 
gularly poor and shiftless families often to 
be met with in the society of . that day. 
They were of a class who never cared to 
provide anything for the morrow, never 
made much advancement, loved the past, 
found fault with the present, ignored the 
future. Such people are sometimes dar- 
ing because they cannot count the cost. 
Tony was about the age of Oliver, dull, 
generous, a little too fat to climb well but 
afraid of being called a coward. 

When Nig reached the dangerous pass. 


— 20 — 


the two “ tigers drew back. The rest of 
the boys then began to urge them on. The 
taunts and urgings of the other boys had 
no effect on Oliver, but Tony pressed on. 
Nig crossed easily to a place of safety but 
Tony did not fare so well. The eyes of 
every boy were fixed upon him as he 
slowly crawled out on the single, slender 
limb. The other players stopped and all 
became silent. Hearing everything so 
still, Tony looked down. It was a fatal 
mistake. He started to fall but clung to 
the limb, turning on it till his head hung 
down. He would have been dashed to 
the ground at once but the knee of his 
stout trousers caught on a sharp knot and 
held him suspended in the air, powerless 
to help himself. The boys on the ground 
were struck with fear, while Tony himself 
was crying with fright. The girls left 
their game of ‘^skipping the rope^’ and 
gathered around. Their cries added to 
the confusion. 

Get me the girls’ jumping rope and we 
can get him down easily enough,” said 
some one, calmly. Turning, the pupils 


— 21 — 


saw Oliver Robertaine, his coat thrown off, 
quietly removing his shoes. In their ex- 
citement the boys 
forgot that he was 
the one who had 
refused to go upon 
the dangerous pass 
a few minutes be- 
fore, with all their 
urging. Taking 
the rope with him, 

Oliver began his 
daring climb. 

“If you don’t 
stop kicking about 
so much you will 
break the limb, Tony,” called Oliver, as 
he felt the limb shaking with Tony’s vio- 
lent efforts to regain a hold with his hands. 
Poor Tony was almost black in the face 
Avith hanging so long head downward. 
Making a loop in the rope, Oliver drop- 
ped it down from the dangerous height 
to which he had climbed with great care 
and coolness, and Tony put it around 
his body under the arms. Oliver then 



— 22 — 


passed the rope up over the limb and 
dropped the loose end to the ground. Nig 
and another boy pulled on the rope until 
Tony was raised enough for Oliver to 
release his trousers from the knot, when 
he was lowered safely to the ground. 

Tony had hardly time to recover from 
his scare before the small hand-bell was 
rung to call the pupils to school. 

'' YouTe a plumb brick, Oliver, and 
Nig is one boy that’ll stand by you after 
this,” said Nig as the boys walked to the 
school-house. 

‘'0, it wasn’t much trouble to do what 
I did, and somebody had to do it,” said 
Oliver. 

I’m sorry I teased you when you start- 
ed to school. I guess, when it comes to 
the pinch, you’ve got as much grit as any 
of us,” said Nig. 

Tears came into Oliver’s eyes at these 
generous words. That you may know 
why, it will be necessary to tell something 
about him as he walks toward the house. 

A few months before, an old man, gray 
and somewhat bent with age, accom- 


— 23 — 


panied by a handsome, blue-eyed boy of 
twelve, left the little steamer at Maxtone’s 
Point and took up his residence in a small 
house on the bank of the river, near the 
village. There was about the old man a 
look of lofty pride. There was something 
high-born and noble in his face, too, that 
commanded the respect of all who saw 
him. He looked to be a man who would 
willingly die rather than ask or receive 
charity. And the boy by his side, what 
a fine, beautiful look he had and how 
proud his step ! He looked as if he might 
have been used to far other surroundings 
than such as he was likely to find at this 
humble village. The boy was Oliver. The 
proud, fine-looking, old gentleman was his 
grandfather, Godfrey Robertaine. No one 
was able to learn anything of the past his- 
tory of Oliver and his grandfather. They 
associated but little with the people of 
the neighborhood. When Oliver came to 
school, the boys, thinking him proud and, 
as they termed it, “ stuck up,^^ made it 
very unpleasant for him. The boys were 
right in thinking Oliver proud. He was 


24 — 


proud, but it was that kind of pride which 
every boy and girl should have — the kind 
that keeps people from being, in any way, 
connected with anything disgraceful or 
dishonorable. There is a difference be- 
tween pride and vanity. 

Everyone likes to have the good will 
and respect of his associates. For this 
reason, the taunts and persecutions of his 
schoolmates had borne heavily on Oliver. 
His high spirit disdained to show that he 
suffered, however. Now, when Nig vol- 
untarily complimented him, in his rough 
way, and declared himself his friend, he 
knew that he had at least one companion 
who appreciated him. Nig’s brusque and 
boyish expression of admiration for Oli- 
ver’s courage caused the noble boy to show 
more feeling than all the persecutions of 
his schoolmates had succeeded in wring- 
ing from him. 


CHAPTER II 


A Strange School Visitor 

Mr. Sumley seemed to be in an unusu- 
ally pleasant frame of mind and the 
school, on the morning of Tony’s misfor- 
tune, moved pleasantly along. To hear 
what good lessons Timothy Snideby had, 
to see how well he behaved in the pres- 
ence of the master, one would scarcely 
have believed him guilty of the act of the 
morning. There was one blue-eyed boy, 
however, who wondered many a time 
that day what would happen when the 
hour for writing should come. 

Writing was the last exercise before the 
afternoon recess. At last, “Get ready for 
writing,” the master said, as he opened 
the door of the desk in readiness to get 
the copy-books. Just then a little girl’s 
hand went up. She wanted her pen 
mended. The master was mending the 


— 26 — 


pen when suddenly a dead silence fell 
upon the school, to be broken immedi- 
ately by such laughing and screaming as 
proved that “something had happened/' 
Looking in the direction in which every 
eye in the room was turned, the master, 
of course, saw Timothy's turtle which had 
crawled out of his prison when the door 
was opened. 

“ Will some boy take that thing out?" 
said Mr. Sumley, in an ominous voice. 

“I will," said Nig. 

While Nig was removing the turtle, no 
one dared smile, for the master, as Nellie 
afterwards said, “just looked awful." In 
truth his face did look “awful," for an- 
ger flashed from his gray eyes, glowed in 
his flushed cheeks, and trembled in his 
hands. 

“ This is my first trouble in this school," 
he said, “and if I And the boy who did 
it, he will not wish to do such a mean, 
sneaking, contemptible trick again the 
rest of his life. I had hoped you were 
all gentlemen, but I And that at least one 
of you is not. Only a coward would do 


— 27 — 


such a trick to a teacher who has been as 
kind as I have. Such a boy does not de- 
serve a school to go to, and if I find him 
out he will wish he had never come. If 
any one knows anything about this mat- 
ter, I want him to tell me. Does any one 
know who did this cowardly trick?” 

No one moved or spoke. 

‘‘Then I will question you one at a 
time, and, mind you, let me hear the truth 
or it will be so much worse for you.” 

The first boy called was the carpenter’s 
son; a little fellow with a very freckled 
face and slender limbs, who always seemed 
to be in somebody’s way. 

“ Lemmy Nix,” called out the master 
in such a terrible voice that the boy with 
freckles got up quicker than he had ever 
been known, in all his life, to get out of 
anybody’s way, “do you know anything 
about who brought that turtle to the 
school?” 

“No, sir, I don’t.” 

“Lemmy, are you telling me the truth?” 

“Yes, sir, I wouldn’t tell you nothin’ 
else.” 


— 28 — 


Poor little Lemmy was all ‘^broken 
up,” and began to sob. The master ex- 
cused him. 

^ ^Antony Neggits.” 

Tony stood up. 

^‘Do you know anything about who 
put that turtle in my desk ? ” 

No, sir, I don’t know nothin’ about 
it.” 

He was excused. 

‘‘Timothy Snideby.” 

Trembling, but looking as innocent as 
he could, Timothy arose. 

“Do you know anything about who 
put that turtle in my desk? ” 

“No, sir,” answered Timothy with great 
coolness for so young a rogue. But one 
boy in the room turned his honest blue 
eyes upon him and wondered that such a 
falsehood did not almost blister the tongue 
that uttered it. 

“ Nellie Neff.” 

Poor Nellie ! The master had never 
spoken in such an “awful” voice to her 
before. The tender-hearted child burst 
into tears. Mr. Sumley saw that he had 


— 29 — 


hurt her feelings and the sight of such a 
little sunbeam in tears had the happy ef- 
fect of greatly reducing his anger. He 
spoke to her in a much kinder voice. 

“Nellie, my child, do you know any- 
thing of this affair?” 

She, of course, answered that she did 
not. 

In this manner the personal examina- 
tion of the fifteen or twenty pupils went 
on. Each one professed ignorance of the 
affair. From the time of speaking to Nel- 
lie, however, the master lost much of his 
anger. He became much more reasonable. 
Such is the sweet influence of even a child 
whose life is ruled by a gentle, kindly 
spirit. 

“ Oliver Robertaine,” called the master 
Oliver was the very last one to be exam- 
ined. When he heard his name called, he 
arose! His heart beat faster and louder 
than usual but he resolved to tell the 
truth. 

“ Do you know anything about this dis- 
agreeable affair, Oliver?” 

To the great surprise of both master and 


— 30 — 


pupils and the positive fear of Timothy, 
he answered, ‘'Yes, sir, I do.” 

“ Well, I’m glad we have found some 
one, at last, who knows about it. I had 
begun to think the turtle came here of 
his own accord.” 

Mr. Sumley was not now minded to be 
severe on Oliver. He had not so much 
as even suspected Timothy, nor had he 
particularly suspected any one. He be- 
gan to think that Oliver had done the 
trick and that the honesty of his nature 
would not permit him to deny it when 
questioned in this direct way. He re- 
solved to be very lenient with him if he 
confessed. He now resumed his ques- 
tions. 

“ So you know who did this trick?” 

“ Yes, sir, I do.” 

“Who was it?” 

“Mr. Sumley, I cannot tell.” 

“ You know and you can’t tell ! Well, 
I’ve taught school for six years and I 
never yet found a boy who knew any- 
thing he couldn’t tell.” 

Mr. Sumley was growing angry again. 


—31 — 


Did you do it yourself?’’ he asked se- 
verely. 

No, sir, I did not.” 

You did not do it yourself and you 
will not tell who did ? Boy, I will bear 
no trifling. You must tell.” The master 
picked up one of the stout switches to be 
found in nearly every school of that day. 

“ Mr. Sumley, my grandfather has al- 
ways told me that it is wrong to tell on a 
schoolmate (Timothy began to feel easier) 
and I must not tell.” 

‘‘Your grandfather, I would have you 
know, is not teaching this school. I have 
more than half a notion to whip you till 
you’re glad to tell. I don’t think it wrong 
to tell on a playmate or anybody else, no 
matter what your grandfather thinks. I 
will not whip you now, however, but you 
shall not go upon the playground any 
more until you tell who did this trick or 
we And out in some other way.” 

Without a word, a tear, even a look that 
betrayed the deep sense of wrong he felt, 
Oliver sat down. The conviction that he 
had been misunderstood and wronged was 


— 32 — 


not the only pang he felt. He was keen- 
ly sensitive to his punishment. Never 
before had he been punished at school, so, 
this punishment fell with double force 
upon him. But he felt that he had done 
right and the thought made his trouble 
more easily borne. While it may be one 
thing to betray a schoolmate who has 
given you his confidence but quite an- 
other matter to inform on one whom you 
have found out independently, Oliver 
saw no difference. Then, Timothy Snide- 
by, of all the boys at school, had most 
annoyed him. It seemed to Oliver that, 
had he exposed Timothy, it would have 
been taking a mean advantage. His high 
spirit disdained such a thing. With a 
heavy heart, he walked home that even- 
ing. On the way, he saw some one ahead 
of him walking very slowly. As he came 
closer he found that it was Nellie, who, 
plainly enough, was loitering that she 
might be overtaken. 

“You are not in a very great hurry 
this evening, Nellie,” said Oliver, as he 
reached the little girks side. 


— 33 — 


Oliver, I’m sorry you have to stay in, 
and I don’t believe you ever brought that 
awful, old turtle into the school-house.” 

Ten-year-old Nellie had the quick sym- 
pathy belonging to more mature years. 
The boy who had, without a murmur, 
borne punishment from the master, ill 
treatment from the boys and had been 
misunderstood by all, was touched. 

I’m glad you do not think I am as 
bad as everybody else thinks I am. I’m 
glad you are a friend to me. Nobody else 
but my grandfather cares for me.” 

‘‘ Tony don’t think you did it, neither 
does Nig. I heard them say so as I came 
past Mr. Niggins’ gate this evening.” 

^‘Nellie, you don’t know how much 
better you make me feel. There are more 
who care for me than I thought. It is a ter- 
rible thing to think no one cares for you.” 

“Nig cares for you and Tony cares for 
you and I care for you. And, Oliver, 
God cares for you. You must not for- 
get Him. You must not be sad any more.” 

The two children were now before Mr. 
Neff’s gate. Without more words, Nellie 


3 


— 34 — 


lifted up her little baby brother who had 
“toddled out to meet her and carried 
him into the house. Oliver walked 
thoughtfully away. The disgrace of being 
punished at school weighed heavily upon 
him. He especially dreaded having his 
grandfather hear of it for he knew it 
would give the kind old man much pain. 

When he reached his grandfather’s 
cottage he found him, as usual, at the 
gate where he had come to meet “ his 
boy.” 

Godfrey Robertaine had seen much 
sorrow and disappointment in his long 
life of three-score and ten years. Yet, 
the high-bred, fine face still retained its 
look of lofty pride. Such a man living 
in such surroundings caused much curi- 
osity among his humble neighbors, but 
no one was sufficiently intimate with 
him to inquire about the past. The few 
who had tried to “scrape an acquain- 
tance ” were treated with lofty courtesy. 
Before such dignity of manner, none pre- 
sumed to ask questions. He never was 
seen to work, seeming to have means 


— 35 — 


amply sufficient for his humble wants. 
He seemed a man who desired to forget 
and be forgotten. 

As Oliver approached, his grandfather 
saw that something had gone wrong but 
he asked no questions, trusting to the 
manly nature of the boy to tell him all 
he ought to know. The meeting between 
them was such as might he expected be- 
tween persons who had no one else in all 
the world to love. 

As they stood at the gate, a view quite 
beautiful spread before them. The hills 
with their gorgeous robes of early autumn, 
the placid river with now and then a 
boat and the golden beams of the setting 
sun on its bosom, formed a picture not 
without its attractions. 

‘‘A pretty landscape, Oliver,” said the 
grandfather calling attention to the glori- 
ous view by a sweep of the arm. 

“ I can’t think this very beautiful, 
grandpa. When I look at the trees with 
their beautiful leaves it makes me think 
of the great old house, the quiet street, 
the beautiful grove of magnolias and — ” 


— 36 — 


“ Stop, my child, stop. Don’t tell over 
the old scenes now. God knows they are 
before my eyes night and day. Those 
loved scenes are dead to ns, Oliver, my 
boy. We shall never again see the grand 
old house, the quiet street, the magnolias. 

They are dead to us like ,” the old 

man’s voice broke. Taking the boy’s hand 
in his own, the white-haired man, the 
golden-haired boy, carried their grief into 
the cottage, to live a while with the fond 
memories of the past. 

This strange household had but one 
member besides Oliver and his grand- 
father. This was an old servant — a col- 
ored man — called Uncle Ag. His full 
name was Agamemnon Idlefield. Doubt- 
less, he had not the remotest idea who the 
real Agamemnon was, whose name he 
bore. His name was due to a custom long 
observed of giving colored children high- 
sounding names. Uncle Ag must not be 
thought of as an entirely ignorant, rough 
man, however, for he had spent all his life 
as the immediate body-servant of Godfrey 
Robertaine. As a result, he had acquired 


— 37 — 


a refinement of thought and manner not 
always met with in persons in his condi- 
tion. He was another of the mysteries 
which seemed to the Maxtone’s Point peo- 
ple to hang over the Hobertaine cottage. 

The evening meal over, the three were 
sitting about the lamp. The grandfather 
was reading one of the many books which 
curiously enough were to be found there 
when Oliver’s hand was laid on his shoul- 
der. 

“ Grandpa.” 

“ Well, my boy.” 

“ I am going to tell you something 
that will make you feel very sad.” 

My child, I have seen much sorrow in 
my life. I will not shun it now. Tell me 
what you wish. You speak to your best 
earthly friend.” 

‘‘ Grandpa, I was punished to-day at 
school.” 

Uncle Ag started from his chair. A 
look of deep pain crossed the fine face of 
the grandfather and, drawing Oliver near 
him, his nervous hand on the bright hair, 
— the wavy, beautiful hair which the old 


— 38 — 


man loved so well that he had never 
allowed a single lock cut away — he 
anxiously asked: 

“You did not do anything dishonora- 
ble or unmanly, Oliver? Tell me that. 
It is all I need to know.” 

“ ’Deed, chile, tell ole grandfather an’ 
ole Uncle Ag dat. Can stan’ anything 
else. Can’t stan’ dat, nohow.” This from 
the old servant. 

“ I will tell you all the story,” said the 
boy. He then told the incidents which 
had taken place at school that day. 

Uncle Ag settled back in his chair, his 
old face expressing the satisfaction he felt. 
The grandfather’s face wore a look of 
proud pleasure. 

“ You feared to make me sad, my noble 
boy,” he said, “ but you have made me 
happier than I have been for many a day. 
I am sorry that one of your playmates is 
so dishonorable but I rejoice in my man- 
ly grandson.” 

Oliver’s sense of pleasure at his grand- 
father’s words more than repaid him for 
the shame he had endured. 


39 — 


Marse Godfrey, dis Oliver jist like de 
odder Oliver. Wish he could see him 
now. It make him glad I know.’’ 

Alas ! Alas ! Ag, the other Oliver will 
never more see this one. The cruel waves 
stilled his warm heart. We three alone 
are left of those who knew and loved him 
best.” 

‘‘Marse Godfrey, somet’ing in old Ag’s 
heart tell him God will nebber close his 
ole eyes in def till dey see young Marse 
Oliver again.” 

“God knows how fondly I wish it 
might be but I have no hope at all. My 
hopes are dead like almost all the fond 
dreams and hallowed associations of the 
past. Oliver, my child, do not weep over 
what we have lost. Turn with hope to the 
future. And, whatever be your lot in life, 
remember that anything — even death — is 
better than dishonor.” 


CHAPTER III 
Nig “Stands By” Oliver 

The next morning a pleasant picture 
awaited the master while on his way to 
school. He had almost reached her fa- 
ther’s gate when he saw Susie Neff stand- 
ing there awaiting his approach. Hastily 
giving his necktie a pull, thinking to 
straighten it but in reality making it 
worse; giving his coat a more graceful set 
and shifting his books to his left arm, to 
be in readiness to touch his hat with his 
right, this very bashful pedagogue ap- 
proached. 

“Good morning. Miss Susie,” said he 
touching his hat awkwardly, with eyes 
so intently fixed on Susie’s face, or the 
nearest tree top or on nothing — he didn’t 
know which— that, stumbling over a small 
stump, his bow was much more real and 
vigorous than he expected. 


— 41 — 


“Good morning, Mr. Sumley. I hope 
you are well.’' 

“Never better in my life. Are your 
folks all well? ” 

“They are very well, thank you. Mr. 
Sumley, I came out this morning to ask 
you to go out boat riding with a small 
party of us this evening.” 

“I don’t know. I am not much ac- 
quainted with the young people around 
here.” 

“Never mind that. You will easily get 
acquainted. Come to our house this even- 
ing for supper. I shall take care of you.” 

“ Then I’ll come. Miss Susie, but I am 
afraid that if you undertake to take care 
of one as rough and unpolished as my- 
self you will have a hard task and no 
profit.” 

“I’ll risk that,” said Susie, as she turned 
away. 

Susie Neff was a worthy girl, with a 
nature a good deal like that of her little 
sister, Nellie, with whom you are already 
acquainted. Good-looking, bright, cheer- 
ful, warm-hearted, no one in the little 


— 42 — 


village had more friends. She was now 
twenty years of age. Her father was one 
of the most intelligent and well-to-do men 
of the place. Her mother had wealthy 
relatives living in Louisville. These Susie 
often visited, acquiring a refinement of 
manner, a knowledge of society impossi- 
ble to acquire at Maxtone’s Point. 

This was not the first time that Mr. 
Sumley had met Susie. He had met her 
more times than was good for his peace 
of mind. What his thoughts were as he 
walked along may be guessed from what, 
unconsciously to himself, he said aloud 
as he suddenly stopped his walk. 

'‘Andrew Sumley, what kind of foolish 
notions are these going through your 
head now ? Such a looking creature as 
you are, too ! Do you suppose such a 
girl would look at you if she didn’t feel 
sorry for your loneliness? No, no; it’s 
kindness, not regard, that makes her no- 
tice you. Don’t you dare presume on her 
kindness.” 

These were rough words for one to ad- 
dress to himself. They show, however. 


— 43 — 


that the master was an honest man. Af- 
ter all, there were some things to admire 
in the character of Mr. Sumley. He was 
honest and modest. 

Oliver had nearly reached the school- 
house on this same morning, when, on 
rounding a turn in the road, he saw Nig 
sitting whittling and whistling on the top 
rail of a high fence. Jumping lightly to 
the ground as Oliver reached the place. 
Nig, with his usual directness, came at 
once to his object. 

Oliver,^’ he said, guess I know 
who played that trick yesterday. Least- 
ways, I know who always has done such 
things and then tried to lie out of them. 
Wasn't it Tim Snideby ? " 

“If you will promise not to tell the 
teacher on him I will tell you who it 
was," said Oliver. 

“ You bet I’ll not do that. I don’t go 
much on a feller that’s always a tellin’ 
on somebody.’’ 

“Well, then, it was Tim.’’ 

“ I knowed it and I told Tony I’d bet 
my last copper it was him. I know Tim 


/ 


44 — 


Snideby and I know his tricks. He’s 
done right this term about as long as he 
ever does. The teacher had better watch 
him, if he does act so nice. But he sha’n’t 
get off so easy this time while I’m around. 
I promised yesterday to stand by you and 
I’m a goin’ to do it.” 

“ What will you do? ” asked Oliver. 

You just wait and see. Me and Tony 
talked it over. We know what we’ll do. 
Tim Snideby better look out.” 

Nig accompanied these threatening 
words with many shakings of the head 
and what he aimed to be fierce looks. 
Truly, if anyone came under the dis- 
pleasure of Nig, it were well for him, as 
he said, to “look out.” For he was both 
strong and brave. Besides he had a cer- 
tain impulsive resolution that made him 
a bad kind of boy to have for an enemy. 

When the two boys reached the school- 
house, Oliver went quietly to his seat. 
Nig went to the play-ground. 

Timothy was talking and laughing with 
the master when Oliver went in but went 
immediately afterwards out to the play- 


—45 


ground as if uneasy in the presence of the 
boy he had wronged. Oliver was so con- 
tented in his consciousness of right, and 
proud of his grandfather’s approval, that 
he looked upon the misguided nature of 
Timothy with lofty disdain. 

At the noon hour, Oliver was sitting 
quietly in his place when Nellie came in, 
her face flushed with exercise, and took 
a seat in front of him. 

I thought you must be lonesome in 
here by yourself, so I came in to show you 
my new story book,” said the little girl. 

I am lonesome, Nellie, but I am not 
so selfish as to let you leave the play- 
ground to keep me from being so.” 

“ O, I don’t care to play any more. 
And, besides, I like to talk to you. You 
are not rough like the other boys. You 
never tear our play-houses down.” 

I don’t think it manly to do such 
things, Nellie. I like to talk to you, too. 
You are kind and good.” 

Thanks to Oliver’s grandfather, he was 
advanced in his reading far beyond Nel- 
lie’s picture book. But he was not past 


— 46 — 


Nellie’s simple kindness, pleasant smile 
and warm heart. After looking through 
the book, Nellie said : 

Do you know how to play criss-cross, 
Oliver?” 

No, but I should like to learn.” 

“Well, you make four straight lines” 
— she made them on Oliver’s slate as she 
spoke — “ inclosing a square. You must 
let the lines be longer than the square, so 
there will be corners outside of the cor- 
ners of the square.” Nellie did not know 
about angles. She called them corners. 
“ Then we can mark, turn about, in all 
the outside corners, on the sides and in 
the center of the square. Whoever first 
gets three marks in a straight row wins 
the game. You may mark first.” 

“ All right. Here goes for the center,” 
said Oliver. 

They spent a pleasant noon hour, be- 
coming very well acquainted and each 
finding much to admire in the other. 
Oliver, that day learned that he had 
more and better friends than he sup- 
posed. Thereafter, his school days were 


— 47 — 


more pleasant, though, childlike, he did 
not understand that it was his own right 
conduct and the gentle friendship of 
Nellie that made them so. Nellie had 
in her short life discovered the golden 
secret which people sometimes spend for- 
tunes and lives of travel to learn, that 
happiness is found in trying to make others 
happy. 

That evening. Nig and Tony left the 
school-house as quickly as they could. 
Their way led them past Mr. Snideby’s. 
The road, which was very poor, ungraded, 
and fringed on each side with bushes, led 
on past Mr. Neff’s, thence toward the river. 
As Mr. Sumley was going to Neff’s that 
evening for supper, Nellie and little Joe 
stayed to accompany him. 

Timothy Snideby was loitering along 
on his way home, a little distance ahead 
of the master. He was picking a bunch 
of hazel nuts from a bush by the roadside 
when a strong hand clutched his collar 
and literally dragged him behind a clus- 
ter of bushes. Recovering from his first 
fright but still trembling he arose when 


— 48 — 


he was released and saw Nig, the boy of 
all others whom he most dreaded and 
feared, standing threateningly near. 

“Now you miserable coward, how do 
you like that ? Maybe you’d like to have 
another shake of the same kind?” cried 
Nig, his eyes flashing. 

“ What have I done to you? I’ve done 
nothin’ to you,” cried Timothy, cowering. 

“Who put the turtle in the master’s 
desk and then cowardly lied about it? 
Who lets a boy what didn’t do it take the 
punishment belongin’ to the boy what 
did? I know all about you, Tim Snide- 
by, and so does Tony. We know you put 
that turtle in there and now you’re cow- 
ard enough to let a boy you’re not good 
enough to look at bear the blame.” 

“Who told you?” whined Timothy. 

“ Oliver told me hisself Now, look 
here, Tim Snideby, the master’s a cornin’ 
along here in a minute. If you don’t go 
out there in the road and tell him you did 
that trick. I’ll pound you till you can’t 
get home. Are you a goin’ to do it?” 

Timothy was a coward though nearly 


— 49 — 


as large as Nig. It was a terrible thing 
to tell the master, it was equally terrible 
to face his fierce schoolmate. He hoped 
Nig would not do as he said. He would 
try him. He would try begging. 

‘‘ We’ve always been good friends, Nig. 
I’ve always thought lots of you. I didn’t 
do — ” He did not finish the sentence. 
With lowering brow, without a word, 
Nig’s strong hand was on his collar again 
and the frightened fellow was being shak- 
en with a violence that threatened the 
dislocation of his-joints. 

‘^Let me go! Let me go! I’ll tell 
him,” he cried, shaking with fear. 

Nig kept his hand on the boy’s collar 
till the road was reached but released him 
as the master approached. Timothy 
was trembling in every limb, as well he 
might, for it would be hard to imagine a 
much worse position than he found him- 
self in at that moment. 

As the master drew near, he saw that 
something serious was about to happen 
but little guessed the truth. He thought 
it was a case of fighting. Nig was stand- 


4 


— 50 — 


ing calmly near Timothy but one could 
tell by his hard breathing and determined 
look that he was resolved to do all he 
could for his friend, Oliver. 

You boys have been fighting, I sup- 
pose. Well, I shall know how to deal 
with you in the morning,” said the mas- 
ter, sternly. 

“ WeVe not been a fightin’, sir, least- 
ways, Tim hasn,t. If you please, sir, Tim 
has somethin’ to say to you about that 
turtle trick,” said Nig. 

‘‘Well, Timothy, what about it? I 
suppose you have found out who did it 
and have now stopped to tell me. I hope 
you do not think it wrong to tell me.” 

Timothy did not think it wrong but, 
no -doubt, he thought it extremely embar- 
rassing. He thought once that he would 
try to deny it but a look at Nig who, as 
though he suspected something of the 
kind, stood back of the master, caused 
him to abandon the thought. 

“ Please, sir, I done it,” he whimpered. 

“You!” almost shouted the master. 
“ You, Timothy. I would have believed 


— 51 — 


such a thing of any one else sooner than 
you. And you denied it yesterday. O, 
Timothy ! I have been deeply deceived in 
you. And you let an innocent boy suffer 
in your place. I will hear more of this 
in the morning. You can go.” 

Timothy, his face covered with shame 
and confusion, went to his home. The 
master passed on. 

I told you, Tony, we’d bring that feller 
to time,” said Nig as Tony came out of the 
thicket where he had lain concealed dur- 
ing Timothy’s enforced confession. Be- 
cause,” Nig had said, “ If we both come 
out, Tim ’ll say, ^ Two on one isn’t fair 
play.’ I told you Tim Snideby better 
look out.” 

When Mr. Sumley reached Mr. Neff’s 
gate, it was yet early in the evening and 
some time before the supper hour. Ex- 
cusing himself, he took his way toward 
the Robertaine cottage which was not 
very far beyond Neff’s. He was deeply 
mindful of the wrong which Oliver had 
suffered. He resolved that the night 
should not pass by until the boy should 


— 52 — 


be relieved from suspicion. The master 
was a just man, after a fashion — his own 
fashion. He would be found, however, 
to possess a certain rugged manliness and 
honesty that seldom failed to win upon 
those who knew him well. Arrived at the 
cottage, he Avas met at the door by Uncle 
Ag, and, as the house was small, he found 
himself, at once, in the presence of Oliver 
and his grandfather. 

“ I believe I have the pleasure of meet- 
ing Mr. Andrew Sumley, the teacher,’’ 
said the old gentleman, with fine polite- 
ness. 

I am the teacher. You are Oliver’s 
grandfather I suppose,” said the master, 
aAvkAvardly returning the polished bow. 

Mr. Sumley, with his usual abruptness, 
came at once to the object of his call by 
saying : 

“ Mr. Robertaine, you have heard that 
we have had some trouble at the school, 
lately, for which your grandson has been 
punished.” 

“Oliver has told me something of it,” 
said Mr. Robertaine, with lofty dignity. 


—53 — 


He thought that, perhaps, the teacher had 
come to complain of Oliver. The thought 
gave him high displeasure. 

“ Well,’^ the master continued, “ I have 
come to tell you that we have found the 
boy who is really guilty. Oliver has no 
blame resting on him.^’ Uncle Ag’s face, 
at hearing this, assumed a look of supreme 
pleasure. I have unjustly blamed him 
but, now, I have come to ask your pardon 
and his also. I will say too that I highly 
honor the boy who has such a noble heart 
as your grandson.’’ 

The old grandfather’s look of lofty dig- 
nity vanished and a look of sincere pleas- 
ure beamed on his face. 

“ He is a good and noble boy, Mr. Sum- 
ley, and it makes me very glad to hear 
you say what you have. Do not further 
distress your mind with the thought that 
we have any ill will against you. The 
matter was a mistake. Happily the right 
has conquered as it always will. I am 
much pleased to find you the man you are, 
Mr. Sumley, for, frankly, I had begun to 
entertain a disagreeable opinion of you.” 


— 54 — 


‘‘ I have done no more than my duty, 
sir. I could not rest without setting the 
matter right,” answered the master. 

After spending some time in friendly 
conversation, Mr. Sumley took his leave. 
He was invited by the old gentleman to 
spend some of his evenings by his fireside. 


CHAPTEE IV 


Mr. Sumley Goes Boat-Eiding 

When Mr. Sumley arrived at Neff’s, on 
his return from Eobertaine’s, Nellie was 
at the gate to meet him. Taking him by 
the hand she led him into the house. The 
kindness and artlessness of the little girl 
made him feel at home at once. 

‘‘ Mr. Sumley, you are welcome to our 
home,” said Mrs. Neff, herself, as she ap- 
peared from her work. Her kind, moth- 
erly face said the same as her words. I 
hope you will not mind my untidy ap- 
pearance.” 

It does not matter about the clothes 
we wear so the heart is right, Mrs. Neff 
Your little girl has already made me wel- 
come.” 

Nellie is a kind child, Mr. Sumley, and 
if you will excuse me, I will leave her to 
entertain you while I attend to my work.” 


— 56 — 


I could not ask for a better enter- 
tainer,” responded the master, as Mrs. 
Neff retired. 

Soon Mr. NelF, the father, entered. A 
quiet, modest man he was, considerably 
past forty years of age ; not a polished 
man but a gentleman. He greeted the 
master cordially. As is usual, when 
patrons entertain the teacher, the conver- 
sation soon turned to school matters. 

‘‘You have been having a little trouble, 
I hear,” said Mr. Neff. 

“Everything has been going well until 
that affair yesterday,” answered the mas- 
ter. “We have found the guilty boy, 
though, and I guess there will be no more 
trouble about that.” 

“And you found that the Robertaine 
boy was not the one, too, did you not? ” 

“Yes, sir; it was not Oliver but the 
Snideby boy. I could scarcely have be- 
lieved it of him had he not told me him- 
self.” 

“Told you himself!” cried Mr. Neff, 
in surprise. “That is something I did 
not suppose he would do. But when my 


— 57 — 


wife and I heard about it we said at once 
that we believed that the wrong boy was 
being punished. We thought it was the 
Snideby boy. But he confessed it, did 
he ? He must be going to do better. I 
am downright glad to hear that he was 
manly enough to confess rather than let 
an innocent schoolmate suffer the blame.’’ 

“ I am just a little afraid you are giving 
him more credit than he deserves. I 
don’t know positively but I think from 
what I saw this evening that Thomas 
Niggins had something to do with Timo- 
thy’s confessing.” 

“ I should not be surprised. That Nig- 
gins fellow is a queer chap. There is not 
a better-hearted boy, though, and he is 
no coward either. Almost everyone is 
down on the Snideby boy. I, for one, 
don’t think he has much chance to do 
better. He has absolutely no encourage- 
ment at home.” 

“ Mr. Neff, you surprise me. I wish 
you would tell me all that you mean.” 

“ Well, I’ll do so. Mrs. Neff and my- 
self are thought to be a little peculiar in 


— 58 — 


our views about training our children. 
We believe that parents should try to 
take a loving interest in their children, 
should encourage them in their studies, 
should talk over school matters with 
them and try to make them see the dif- 
ference between right and wrong. They 
should sympathize with them, be com- 
panions to them. It is seldom that we 
ever seriously punish a child of our own 
and never in anger.’’' Mr. Sumley winced 
at this but Mr. Neff did not notice it. 

Now, old Simon Snideby never pays 
much more attention to Tim than to a 
stranger. If he does talk about school at 
all it is to tell how he used to play tricks 
on the teacher and fight with the boys 
when he was young. When Tim gets in- 
to trouble at school, his father, without 
asking any questions, gives him a brutal 
beating. I do believe the boy has come 
to regard his father as little more than a 
tyrant whom it is right to outwit and de- 
ceive if he can. Tim may be a very bad 
boy but I think he is not altogether to 
blame. My way may be all wrong, Mr. 


— 59 — 


Sumley, but I’ve had better success with 
it than Simon Snideby has with his way.” 

'' Mr. Neff, you have set me to think- 
ing. Something ought to be done. Had 
Mr. Snideby no other children except 
Timothy? ” 

“ He had two other boys, but they ran 
away a good while ago. I don’t know 
where they are now.” 

You have given me some new ideas 
this evening, Mr. Neff Timothy is a 
bright boy and learns fast. If he should 
get a whipping to-morrow morning, do 
you think his father would beat him 
when he went home? ” 

^‘1 am sure he would, and that, too, 
without asking any questions,” replied 
Mr. Neff. 

Then he will not be whipped. I have 
been a harsh teacher in all the schools I 
have taught, and yet I have many times 
thought that there is a milder course. I 
must carefully think over this matter.” 

Nellie now came to announce supper. 
They all went to the kitchen, which also 
served the purpose of dining-room. At 


— 60 — 


the table Mr. Sumley, to his great satis- 
faction, was placed beside Susie. 

Susie was dressed plainly but neatly, 
and in a manner which in every way har- 
monized with the day and place. There 
was a total absence of everything like 
smartness or a seeming desire to “show 
off,” which made her manner charming. 
She was so quiet, modest, gentle, and 
looked so pleasant, that — well, poor Mr. 
Sumley wished he were a handsomer man. 

Supper being over, the master and 
Susie started for the river not far distant. 
When they arrived at the platform where 
the boats usually came to land, some half 
dozen young people were waiting for 
them. Some of them were already in 
the little boats, some sitting on the bank, 
and all having a merry time. 

Each couple went in a boat alone, but 
the company all kept their boats near 
each other. The evening was still and 
pleasant. The bright moonlight lent a 
softened beauty to every object it touched. 

The merry party ascended the river till 
they were tired of rowing, it being the in- 


— 61 — 


tention to drift back with the current. As 
they were floating back the party found 
themselves separated from each other. 
The boat of the master and Susie was con- 
siderably behind the others, on the way 
back, because Mr. Sumley’s vigorous arm 
had driven his boat farthest up the stream. 

That was a happy hour when he found 
himself afloat with Susie on the quiet 
water. The quiet stream, the gentle mo- 
tion, the silvery moonlight and Susie, 
all combined, made him wish the hour 
could last a lifetime. As Susie artlessly 
looked up at him, her dark eyes glowing, 
her pretty hand dragging in the water, 
the thought came to him that he should 
like to see her in some danger, once, just 
to show her how much he would dare for 
her sake. The master talked with a readi- 
ness that was surprising that evening. 

The quiet walk home from the river, 
the slow parting at the gate, the peculiar 
feeling of loneliness he felt as he walked 
home along the lonesome road, stayed in 
the master’s mind and before his eyes 
with singular clearness. Somehow the 


—62 — 


thought of Susie’s gentle goodness would 
come up before him with a force that 
made him wish to be a better man. His 
was a very earnest and positive nature. 
Whatever impressions he had were likely 
to be strong ; whatever opinions, decided. 

It will be remembered that Mr. Sumley 
thought himself much too unpolished to 
suppose that a lady of Susie Neff’s singu- 
lar purity and gentleness could admire 
him. He resolved that he would try to 
make himself more deserving. As usual, 
he began in a practical way. 

As they had left the boat that evening, 
Susie picked up a pretty shell of which 
there were many along the river side. 
The two halves of the shell were yet 
joined when she picked them up but, 
while carrying them home, they fell apart. 
One piece fell to the ground. On picking 
it up, Mr. Sumley asked if he might keep 
it. With a blush, Susie gave him the 
shell. 

Probably there is not a man in all the 
world, even among the confirmed bache- 
lors, who has not, put away somewhere 


— 63 — 


in some hallowed place, some little heart 
treasure given by a fair hand. These 
little treasures sometimes become the tal- 
ismans of men’s lives. 

Mr. Sumley, among his other failings 
of which he now wished to rid himself, 
was a moderate smoker. When he reach- 
ed his humble room, on returning from 
the boat-ride, he filled one of his pipes, 
sat down by the open window and pre- 
pared to light it. Suddenly he stopped 
as if in earnest thought. He started to 
light it again, again stopped. Rising, he 
threw his tobacco away, broke his two or 
three pipes in pieces, placed them in a 
heap on the table and, taking out the 
shell which Susie had given him, placed 
that on the very top of the heap. He 
meant this to signify that her infiuence 
should hinder the infiuence of the pipe 
from ever mastering him again. There 
is nothing so very singular in this reso- 
lution. Doubtless, many another, under 
like infiuences, has acted similarly. The 
singular thing about the master’s resolu- 
tion was that he kept it. 


— 64 — 


The next day brought the question of 
how to manage the Snideby boy. On the 
walk to school and while waiting for the 
pupils to arrive this subject was upper- 
most in his mind. He knew how he al- 
ways had managed such things, but it 
seemed to him that there must be some 
better way. He did not want to whip 
a boy whom he deeply pitied. Somehow 
he felt that Timothy was more deserving 
of sympathy than blows. In common 
Avith nearly all the teachers of that day 
and place, he had governed his school on 
the well-known principle laid down since 
by Bill Jones, in ‘‘The Hoosier School- 
master,” that “lickin’ an’ lamin’ ” go to- 
gether, but this morning he Avas rapidly 
losing faith in this narrow view. He 
had read considerably on the subject, but 
had never put his reading into practice. 
He resolved to try to conduct the matter 
firmly but mildly, and, should he fail in 
that, then resort to harsh methods. 

Timothy did not come to school that 
morning until almost school time. He 
did not go upon the play-ground at all. 


— 65 — 


but went at once to his seat. Several of 
the pupils had already learned that Tim- 
othy had confessed. Only the master, 
Nig, Tony and Timothy knew that Nig 
had frightened him into doing so. The 
master had guessed it the evening before 
during the scene in the road, and when 
Tony came had asked him about it in 
such a way that Tony, thinking he knew 
all about it already, told him all he knew. 
He and Nig were cautioned not to tell 
any one else all the facts, but to treat the 
affair as though Timothy had willingly 
confessed. 

When “ school took up ” about half the 
pupils^ faces wore a disturbed look. They 
no doubt thought, that, according to the 
usual custom, ^‘Tim would catch it!’^ 
When the teacher arose at his desk, his 
face looked firm but not unkind. Pupils- 
do not usually like to hear the teacher 
make a speech. It is to be hoped they 
will be patient just this once. 

‘‘ We have all been much mistaken in 
the last day or two,’’ the master calmly 
said. I am glad that everything has 
5 


^ 66 — 


now come right. We have blamed Oliver 
for an act which has caused us much 
trouble. No further blame rests on him. 
He is not guilty, and I want to say to you 
all that I honor the boy who can shield 
a schoolmate at such expense to himself. 
I am glad that Timothy has been manly 
enough to come to me and confess that 
he did the act for which Oliver has been 
punished. I am very sorry that he should 
have done anything so bad, but glad of 
the spirit he has shown in owning to it. 
There is an evil in our natures which 
sometimes causes us to do wrong without 
stopping to think. I hope this has been 
the case with you, Timothy. I hope you 
are sorry to cause one so much trouble 
who has always been your friend. I am 
more sorry that you permitted another to 
be punished for what you have done than 
for anything else that has happened. But 
your confession has greatly softened that 
offense. I will not whip you, for I think 
you are already sorry enough.'^ Timo- 
thy’s eyes were wet with tears ; his face 
was bowed on his hands. This was much 


— 67 — 


different from the way he had been treat- 
ed before. The master’s words hurt him 
more than a whipping would have done. 
“You may take such punishment as Oli- 
ver has endured until such time as I shall 
excuse you.” 

The pupils were astonished. They 
could not understand it. That Timothy 
did not get a severe whipping was new to 
them. And the master’s face looked even 
kind through it all. The discipline of 
that school did not suffer because of the 
master’s mildness, but his position was 
made more secure than it had ever been 
before. 

Oliver was greatly pleased. It made 
him glad to think that Timothy had been 
manly enough to own his wrong. Every 
one likes to stand honorably before his 
companions. After all his troubles, Oliver 
found himself in this position. He had 
followed a course which he knew to be 
right. The consciousness of this gave 
him more real pleasure than even the 
warm praise of the master. Oliver’s fine 
sense of manliness and honor was not an 


— 68 — 


instinct. He was not born that way any 
more than other boys. His disposition 
was largely the result of training, partly 
due to himself, partly to his grandfather, 
partly due to other influences. 

When Oliver came upon the play- 
ground at noon, everything was in a tur- 
moil. The little girls had built them- 
selves quite a flne playhouse — fine to 
them at least. Of course the walls were 
made by laying sticks along on the gound, 
the furniture was made of bark and moss. 
The little ladies were having a splendid 
time, making and receiving calls, attend- 
ing to the usual household — play-house- 
hold — affairs and otherwise enjoying 
themselves when three or four of the boys 
appeared on the scene. They behaved all 
right for a little while then they began 
moving the sticks of the wall, tearing the 
furniture in pieces, finally ending by 
tearing up everything. 

The poor little housekeepers were in 
consternation. Some were angry and 


69 — 


scolding, some crying and all trying to 
build a new house. As fast as it was 
built, the boys destroyed it. 

On approaching, Oliver saw it all. He 
saw what mischief the boys had done, 
saw them laughing at the little girls, saw 
Nellie crying. His indignation flashed 
up in a moment. He sprang into the 
playhouse, his eyes flashing and his very 
Angers tingling with anger. 

Touch another stick of this playhouse 
if you dare.’’ He cried. 

In defiance, one of the boys consider- 
ably larger than Oliver aimed a kick at 
a little bench of broken dishes. While 
he was yet in the act, Oliver’s fist landed 
squarely on his cheek and sent him reel- 
ing backwards. The others now came 
on and, despite his brave heart, Oliver 
would have fared badly had not help 
come at that instant. Two of the boys 
were just in the act of striking the little 
hero when a strong hand was laid on each 
of their shoulders and they were jerked 
backwards with such force as sent them 


70 — 


staggering out of the playhouse and Nig 
coolly stepped to Oliver’s side. 

^Two on one isn’t no fair play,” he said. 
‘‘ If any one of you fellers of Oliver’s size 
has got anything agin him, I’ve got nothin’ 
to say but no two of you can’t jump on 
him, leastways when I’m around.” 

Oliver was thoroughly aroused. He 
felt as if he could fight half a dozen boys, 
just then. But he held his peace. It was 
not his nature to quarrel and call names. 
He felt that he was in the right and was 
determined to maintain his position. 

No one boy seemed to desire to meet 
the hot courage of Oliver. The dreaded 
Nig stood in the way of more than one’s 
attacking him. They Avere therefore 
compelled to leave him alone. The furth- 
er play of the little girls was undisturbed. 

The misunderstandings and anger of 
schoolboys do not usually last very long. 
This Avas the case noAV. Before long they 
AA^ere all playing together again. 


CHAPTER V 


Timothy Snideby and His Father Get 
Acquainted 

As Timothy was starting home in the 
evening of the day that he had been pun- 
ished, he heard the master calling after 
him. 

“ Wait a minute, Timothy. I am go- 
ing with you.” 

Closing the school-house, the master 
took his hat and joined the boy. They 
walked some time in silence. 

Timothy,” said the master at last, I 
am going home with you to tell your 
father all about your trouble.” 

Oh, Mr. Sumley, for mercy's sake, 
please don’t do that,” the boy cried in 
terror. You don’t know him. He will 
beat me dreadfully if you do.” 

‘‘ Your father will not beat you, my 
boy, if I can prevent it. It is for that 


— 72 — 


very purpose that I am going home with 
you. I am sorry for you, and I want to be 
your friend.’’ 

I’ve never had any friends in my 
life. I don’t know what it is to have a 
friend.” The boy’s face was beginning 
to show emotion. Tears, were coming 
into his eyes. There is a way to touch 
all hearts. Andrew Sumley had found 
that way to this particular heart. Loving 
sympathy is a golden key which just fits 
the strongest door to the stoniest heart. 

‘‘ You forget your mother, Timothy.” 

My mother is — ” 

He could not speak the rest, but the 
flow of tears and the deep sob told the 
sad story. His mother was dead. 

“My poor boy, I am sorry for you,” 
said the master, not without emotion. “ I 
will be your friend. I will try to help 
you to be the kind of boy your mother 
would wish you to be.” 

The situation in which Mr. Sumley 
found himself was somewhat awkward to 
him. It was a new way for him to con- 
quer. He scarcely knew what to say fur- 


— 73 — 


ther. He had assured the boy of his 
friendship, touched his feelings, probably 
aroused his nobler feelings. Little more 
could be done. They walked in silence 
till Timothy’s home was reached. 

The master found Mr. Snideby hard at 
work. He was a man about sixty-five 
years of age. The sternness of his nature 
was very plainly to be seen in the hard 
lines of his face. He was a hard worker, 
partly because he did not know any other 
way to pass his time. He spent no time 
in reading, and considered time thus 
spent as wasted. He looked at the world 
from a very narrow point of view, and 
held his own opinions, with ignorant 
stubbornness, against everybody else. 

The usual greeting over, the master ab- 
ruptly came to his object. 

Mr. Snideby, I have come to speak to 
you about some little trouble I have been 
having with your son.” 

‘‘ Drat the boy ! He’s been up to some 
of his tricks agin, has he ? I’ll skin ’im 
alive ! ” the irate father exclaimed vio- 
lently. 


—74 


But you don’t understand all about 
it yet. He did not do anything so very 
bad. I think we can do more with him 
by kindness and sympathy than by scold- 
ing and whipping/’ quickly interrupted 
the master. 

“ Drat yer kindness ! Ef ye expect to 
keep school at Maxtun’s Pint with kind- 
ness, ye’ll miss yer guess. They’s nothin’ 
like plenty o’ thrashin’. I alius says to 
Tim, says I, ‘ you mind yer eye, sonny. 
Ef ye git a lickin’ at school ye’ll git a 
heap wuss one whenever ye git home.’ ” 

'‘Mr. Snideby, I have tried your plan 
for nearly six years. I am going to try 
kindness now. I believe I have already 
done more with your son by being kind 
to him than I could have done in any 
other way.” Here he told all the cir- 
cumstances as they have already been 
given. " Have you ever,” he continued, 
"tried mild means with your son? Did 
you try kindness with the two boys who 
are wanderers this evening — God knows 
where? ” 

The stern man looked angry, but at 


75 — 


the same time his lip quivered Avith emo- 
tion. He seemed about to make some 
reply, but did not. 

“ I want to ask this favor of you, Mr. 
Snideby. I want you to help me rule 
your boy by kindness. Talk sometimes 
about the school with him, show him 
that you care for him. Be kind to him. 
I think I can promise you that no more 
tales of his mischief will ever come home 
to you.’’ 

“ I don’t take up no great sight Avith 
yer plan,” said the father, a great deal 
softened by the thoughts of his two boys 
Avho Avere Avanderers, he kneAv not Avhere. 

But I s’pose it Avon’t do no hurt. It 
won’t hurt nothin’ to try it once, any- 

hOAV.” 

After some further talk, the master 
took his leave, much pleased with the 
result of his call. He was passing the 
Avinding, bush-fringed road Avhich led 
away from the house when he heard a 
step at the roadside and Timothy stood 
before him. In an anxious voice the boy 
asked after the result of the interview. 


—76 


You need not fear. Your father 
knows the circumstances, and I do not 
think he will be severe on you. I think 
your father will be kind to you if you 
will try to please him by doing as he 
wishes. Your father is old and has seen 
much sorrow. You should be kind to 
him.” 

The master passed on. The boy stood 
looking after him till his form was lost to 
sight beyond a turn in the road. Then 
he turned thoughtfully away. He went 
to his chore work that evening with a 
much plainer idea of life and its duties 
than his fallow mind had ever known 
before. 

A pleasant sight awaited Mr. Sumley 
while on the way to his boarding place. 
As he passed Mr. Neff’s, Susie was sitting 
sewing by a front window. He gallantly 
lifted his hat, Susie bowed and smiled. A 
smile is only a little thing, after all, but 
then, Susie could smile more sweetly than 
almost any one else, Mr. Sumley thought. 
Any way, the smile made him Avalk with a 
prouder step, and imparted to his honest 


— 77 — 


heart a warmer glow. He did not take 
his usual smoke that evening. 

The next day was Friday. The master 
had not been long at the school-house 
when Oliver, Nellie and little Joe came. 
Somehow the dingy old school-room 
seemed to brighten when Nellie came in. 
She seemed to carry sunshine with her 
wherever she went. The master was 
scarcely aware of the debt he owed the 
little girl. Was a child hurt on the play- 
ground, Nellie’s arm was first around it 
and her hand was first to wipe away its 
tears. Did a quarrel break out among 
her little playmates, Nellie could nearly 
always quickly restore harmony again. 
On even Mr. Sumley’s somewhat grave 
nature the quiet gentleness of the little 
girl, all unconsciously to herself, exerted 
a powerful influence. Oliver, with his 
singular manly pride and lofty spirit, was 
very sensible of her gentle sway. 

Oliver’s fortunes had undergone an 
agreeable change. He had been misun- 
derstood, teased, by his playmates; sus- 
pected, punished, by the master. He had 


— 78 — 


passed through it all with no discredit to 
his manliness or sacrifice of his lofty 
pride. When the test came, he had proved 
to his companions that his courage was 
equal to any of theirs. From the least 
popular, he had come to be one of the 
most popular. No one, except Nig, had 
a greater infiuence among the boys. 

Calling Oliver to him and laying his 
hand on his head, the master said : 

‘‘ Oliver, I have something to do in 
which I shall need your help. May I de- 
pend on you ? ” 

‘‘Why, Mr. Sumley ! How should I 
be able to help you ? ” 

“ I want you to help make a more 
pleasant life for Timothy. I believe he 
is sorry for what he has done and wants 
to do better. You may think you have 
reasons to look upon him with bitter 
feelings, but I think it would be better 
not to treat him as you feel.” 

“ Mr. Sumley, he has been dishonest 
and cowardly.” 

“ Oliver, you don’t know as much about 
all the circumstances as I do. I feel that 


— 79 — 


this is the best way to do — in fact, the 
only way.” 

The intelligent, bine eyes looked long 
and thoughtfully at the master, as though 
the boy pondered deeply. At last he 
said, I think I understand you. I 
will try.” 

wish you would speak to the other 
boys — to Nig in particular. Timothy 
has had but little chance. He has had 
little or no encouragement at home.” 

Oliver promised. 

As he walked away the master thought 
that he had never seen a more handsome, 
high-spirited boy. He wondered how it 
had been possible to believe that decep- 
tion and falsehood could lurk behind 
such an honest eye, such a manly brow. 

When Nig came swinging along with 
careless step, the picture of health and 
contentment, at peace with all the world, 
Oliver took him to a place where they 
could not be heard and tried to tell him 
the wishes of the master. 

“What! That good-fer-nothin’, sneak- 
in’ cow — ” Nig did not finish the last 


— 80 — 


word. Oliver had quietly put his hand 
over his impetuous companion’s mouth. 

You must remember, Nig, that Tim- 
othy don’t have as much help at home as 
you or I. I am going to help him along 
if I can,” Oliver said, quietly. 

‘‘ Tim don’t have much of a show to 
home, an’ that’s a fact. But you’ve got 
more agin him than I have, an’ if you say 
call it even, why, here goes. I’m a goin’ 
to stand by you. After all, I do feel kind 
o’ sorry fer Tim. The ole man thrashes 
him terrible sometimes.” 

Nig was a singular compound of im- 
pulsiveness, cool courage, intrepid daring, 
warm-heartedness and genius. He had a 
great, tender heart in his broad chest. 
His sympathies could be aroused more 
easily than one who did not know him 
well would suppose. 

The two boys now joined the others, 
assured that each understood the other. 

Timothy had come to school that morn- 
ing, not in the dogged manner in which 
he had come before, but cheerfully. He 
went immediately to his seat. The mas- 


—Bi- 


ter came up to exchange a pleasant word 
with him. Timothy really had a quick, 
bright mind. There was almost a fever- 
ish quickness in his grasp of the lessons. 
Under other circumstances he might have 
made a brilliant scholar, but his surround- 
ings had injured his mental growth be- 
yond calculation. This morning the mas- 
ter noted with pleasure that he went 
quietly, even cheerfully, to his work. 
This encouraged him to think that what 
in his own mind he thought of as his 
“kindness policy’’ was already producing 
good fruits. 

The boys of the school had long been 
planning a nutting party to take place on 
some Saturday. With the exception of 
Timothy, they all met at noon at the old 
tree-top to talk the matter over. The 
next day being Saturday, it was decided 
to have the party then. Plans were made 
to meet at the school-house the next mor- 
ning and start from there. Each boy was 
to take his dinner along and stay all day. 
Only the larger boys — some six or eight 
in all — were to go. 


6 


— 82 — 


Who’ll tell Tim?” asked one of the 
boys. 

Never you mind about Tim,” some 
one answered. boy that’ll treat a fel- 
ler like Tim treated Oliver we don’t want 
along. Do we, boys ? ” 

The expression against Timothy was 
very general. Poor fellow ! He would 
probably have been left out, thus, per- 
haps, wrecking the new “ kindness pol- 
icy ” of the master, had not Oliver raised 
his voice in his defense. 

“ Boys,” he said, ‘‘ you say that Timo- 
thy has done me a wrong. If he did, he 
has been man enough to own it.” At this 
Nig and Tony exchanged meaning looks, 
but said nothing. He is taking his pun- 
ishment without complaining, and I, for 
one, say let’s take him along, and let’s 
treat him right.” 

The boys looked at him in astonish- 
ment. This generous conduct was much 
unlike what they had been accustomed to 
see. No one seemed to know what to say. 

‘H’m a goin’ to stand by Oliver,” ex- 
claimed Nig at last in his hearty way. 










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TIM AND Ills FATHER GET ACQUAINTED. 


— 83 — 


I say let him come along/’ said Tony. 

Tim don’t have as good a show as the 
rest of us, and that’s a fact,” said another 
boy. 

After some further talk, it was settled 
that Timothy should go with them. When 
school closed that evening, the boys gath- 
ered around him to tell him of the party 
and invite him to go along. 

Timothy went home that evening with 
a lighter heart than he had carried for 
many days. 

The evening’s work was all done. Tim- 
othy and his father were sitting alone in 
the quiet evening. At last the boy mus- 
tered up courage to ask permission to go 
with the nutting party the next day. The 
old man hesitated, seemingly in deep 
meditation. 

I had set my head on yer helpin’ with 
the taters to-morrow, Tim,” the father 
said, at last. The boy’s hopes sank. He 
wanted ver}^ much to go. Suddenly the 
parting words of the master, on the even- 
ing as he came from the interview with 
his father, came into his mind. He looked 


quickly at his father sitting there in deep 
thought. The boy wondered why he had 
never before noticed that his father’s hair 
was so very gray. And his form was bent, 
too, and his hands were worn with toil. 
The rough, worn, old hand, resting on the 
arm of the old-fashioned chair, secerned 
in some mysterious manner to touch the 
boy’s heart. He wondered why he had 
not noticed all this before. 

‘‘Father, if you need me, I’m willin’ 
to stay an’ help you,” the boy said, softly. 

The old man looked up quickly at his 
son. He wondered why he had never 
before noticed what fine eyes the boy had 
— -just like his mother’s eyes. He thought 
it strange that he had never before ob- 
served how intelligent looking his son 
was. 

“No, Tim,” said the old man, slowly, 
“ the taters can wait. You can go ’long.” 

The father had not, until that evening, 
become acquainted in a proper sense with 
his son nor the son with his father. Nei- 
ther had tried to understand the other. 
Such relations between parents and chil- 


— 85 — 


dren are sadly common, and are answer- 
able for many of the unhappy misunder- 
standings between them. 

The acquaintance begun that evening 
between Timothy and his father resulted 
in much benefit and a more kindly feel- 
ing between them. Simon Snideby was, 
perhaps, incapable of showing much feel- 
ing, but, from that evening he liked to 
have his son near him. He seemed to 
find pleasure in talking to the boy about 
his work and his plans. As for Timothy, 
he took a positive delight in being the 
companion and confidant of his white- 
haired father. 


CHAPTER VI 


The Nutting Party 

The next day dawned fair and bright. 
The very day for a nutting party ! 

The boys arrived one by one with bag 
and basket. 

As Oliver came past Mr. NefF^s, Nellie 
came running out. She had a fine apple 
and a piece of cake for him. She had 
“baked the cake all by herself,” she said. 

Promising her some of the finest beech- 
nuts he could find, Oliver put the gift 
carefully away in his well-stored basket. 
If the truth must be told, it was not a 
specially fine-looking piece of cake, but 
then, it was Nellie’s “first cake,” you 
know. 

Just as Oliver arrived at the school- 
house, Tony came carrying a big, rusty 
hatchet. “’Cause,” he said, “we might 
want to chop somethin’.” 


— 87 — 


Nig soon came carrying a gun — an old 
musket that had been carried by a vet- 
eran of the War of Independence. He 
told Tony in confidence that the ole 
thing ’’ was loaded with a han’ full o’ 
buck-shot.” 

Boys, in those days, were often taught 
the use of a gun at an early age. Nig 
was the largest boy of the party. He had 
been accustomed to the use of the gun 
for more than a year, and had become 
able to shoot with considerable accuracy. 
On this accomplishment he greatly prid- 
ed himself. 

All the boys having arrived, the party 
proceeded on their way. The route lay 
among the many hills which extended 
several miles back from the river on that 
side. A happy party they were. Timothy 
was treated as well as though no disgrace 
hung over him. 

As they went gaily along, they met 
John Lewitt, an old man who lived a 
short way from the village and made a 
scanty living by fishing and making bas- 
kets. 


Whar be you fellers a goin’ all so 
fast? ” said the old man. 

Back among the hills to gather nuts/^ 
answered Oliver, politely. 

Some of the boys, to their shame be it 
said, had walked behind the queer-look- 
ing old man and had begun to make sport 
of him. By all kinds of motions and grim- 
aces, they called attention to his ragged 
garments and bent form. It is to be 
hoped that he did not see them. It must 
be a sad thing for the old and poor to 
have the infirmities of age become the 
subject of idle sport. A sad heart is too 
great a price to pay for a little fun. Oli- 
ver felt ashamed of his thoughtless com- 
panions. Nearly every boy there had, at 
various times, been indebted to the old 
man for boat rides, hints about catching 
fish and many other like favors. ‘‘Better 
stay out o’ them hills. Nick Jeems 
seed a creetur in them hills day afore 
yisterd’y ’at he ’lowed war a painter,” 

The old man’s warning was not heeded. 
He tottered on toward the village, the 
boys went on their way. In a little while, 


—89 


the circumstance of meeting him was for- 
gotten. 

As the party proceeded, Nig and Oli- 
ver, near noon, found themselves some- 
what in advance of the rest. Suddenly 
a squirrel jumped up from the leaves on 
the ground, making a great clattering 
and chattering as he did so, and skurried 
away to his home in an old oak. The two 
boys gave eager chase. Bunny was too 
nimble for them, besides he knew the 
way to his own house better than they 
did. He reached the tree first. When the 
boys came up, he was not in sight. He 
had gone into his house, which was a 
large hole far up in the oak. His curi- 
osity was too great, though, for him to 
keep hidden. Soon the boys saw his 
head cautiously thrust out of his house, 
watching them. Nig quickly raised the 
old musket, intending to send the terri- 
ble ''han’ full o’ buck-shot” right into 
poor bunny’s face. He was about to pull 
the trigger when Oliver grasped the bar- 
rel of the gun and pulled it down. Nig, a 
little flushed, turned quickly upon his 


— 90 — 


companion as though about to make an 
angry reply. 

“Don’t you see he would fall back into 
the den if you killed him now?” 

“That’s a fact. I didn’t think o’ that,” 
said Nig. 

“ My grandfather has taught me that 
we should never kill anything except for 
some useful purpose. It would be of no 
use to kill the creature if you couldn’t get 
it. So it must be wrong.” 

For a moment Nig looked thoughtfully 
at Oliver as if he wished to understand 
the full meaning of the sentiment which 
was so different from any he had ever 
heard before. 

The boys waited some time for the 
squirrel to come entirely out, but some 
of the rest of the party coming up, he 
was so frightened that he entirely disap- 
peared. 

At noon the boys found an open, shady 
spot under which to eat their dinners. 
Keen hunger flavored their food. Oliver 
tested Nellie’s cake, but you can be sure 
he was too much of a little gentleman 


— 91 — 


ever to tell what he really thought of it. 
His fine apple he shared with Tony. A 
spring of excellent water, so common 
in that locality, supplied them with the 
very best drink that nature gives. 

They were now about five miles from 
home. It was decided to return by anoth- 
er route which led them deeper among 
the hills. It seems they cared more for 
the ramble than to gather nuts. 

About the middle of the afternoon a 
splendid beech tree, more full of its rich 
fruit than any they had found that day, 
was seen on the hill-side. Some one had 
to shake the tree. Timothy and another 
boy offered. Under the infiuence of the 
kind treatment of his teacher and school- 
mates, the more kindly relations between 
himself and his father, Timothy showed 
more spirit than when he thought him- 
self the outcast of all. 

The rich beech-nuts were fairly raining 
upon the ground when a limb on which 
Timothy had trusted too much weight 
suddenly broke. The boy was hurled to 
the ground. The limbs of beeches do 


— 92 — 


not grow very large but they grow in 
great abundance. These somewhat broke 
the force of the fall. Even then, he was 
so stunned that he lay still and white 
where he fell. His companions were so 
frightened that they were almost afraid 
to approach him. In a short time he 
regained consciousness and tried to 
rise. With a cry of pain, he fell back. 
His ankle had suffered a very severe 
sprain. 

What were the boys to do! More than 
three miles from home and one of their 
number crippled! Several plans were 
suggested; all but one rejected. This 
plan was to leave their store of nuts 
where they were, and, two at a time, 
take turns at helping the injured boy 
home. 

The bags of beech-nuts were placed 
among the low branches of the tree. 
When the injured boy had a little re- 
covered from the first keen throbs of 
pain, he was assisted to his feet. Placing 
an arm around the neck of a companion 
on mther side of him, he was able to limp 


—93 — 


away. After painfully toiling along in 
this manner for some time, he expressed 
a wish for crutches. 

''If you think you can walk on ’em, 
Tim, I know how to make ’em,” said Nig. 
"Don’t you remember how oldNick Jeems 
got home from the woods the time the 
wild hog hurt him? I do. I was there 
and seen him.” 

Taking Tony’s hatchet. Nig cut down 
two little bushes that were forked a few 
feet from the ground, trimmed off the 
limbs and cut a proper length of the bod- 
ies to form the shafts of the crutches. 
Putting a folded coat in the fork of each 
rude crutch, he gave them to Timothy 
with an air of pride. The rough crutch- 
es served their purpose well. The crip- 
pled boy found it much easier to make 
his way on them than with the assistance 
of his companions. 

The evening shades were now appear- 
ing in the hollows and on the eastern 
sides of the hills. The shadows of the 
tall trees fell in long bars across the rug- 
ged pathAvay. In spite of the gloom. 


— 94 — 


they were trying to make the bad situa- 
tion as merry as they could. 

The party had paused to allow the in- 
jured boy to rest. He was leaning against 
a great rock beside the path, the others 
grouped around him when, suddenly, 
from the hill-side above and behind 
them arose such an appalling cry as 
fairly froze the blood in their veins. It 
was a long, shrill, wailing sound some- 
what resembling the cry of a child in 
agony. Only it was ten-fold more fright- 
ful. All the lonesomeness, all the terror, 
all the gloom of the midnight wilder- 
ness seemed trembling in its appalling in- 
tonations. The boys, with white faces and 
hard-beating hearts, huddled together. 
Ever}^ eye was turned to Nig. 

‘‘The painter!” he almost w^hispered. 
“ We must run for our lives.” 

Just then the awful cry swelled out 
again on the trembling air. This time it 
sounded nearer than before. The party, 
with all the speed of which the crippled 
boy was capable, pressed along the path. 

Again the dreadful cry arose. This time 










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THE PANTHER. 


— 95 


it seemed to be almost at their heels. 
Looking back with timid fearful glances, 
they saw a light, gray form bound lightly 
into the narrow path. Wild with fear, 
the boys broke into a run. Even Tim- 
othy tried to run but, with the first step, 
fell headlong. With a loud cry of pain 
and fear, he tried to rise. He could not. 
His crutches were not in reach of his 
hand. 

Oliver heard the cry. He could not de- 
sert a schoolmate in such desperate peril. 
Picking up the old, rusty hatchet which 
Tony had dropped, he was at Timothy’s 
side in a moment and trying to help him 
up. Nig also heard the cry and, seeing Ol- 
iver turn, hastened back. 

There was no time to assist Timothy. 
The panther was almost upon them. 
There stood Oliver, his hat off, his bright 
hair pushed back from his brow, facing 
the fierce beast. With desperate resolu- 
tion, Nig placed himself by his friend’s 
side, the old musket in his hand. There 
was something truly sublime in the sight 
of the two friends standing together be- 


96 — 


tween danger and a companion whom 
neither greatly respected. 

The panther, crouching low in the path, 
crawled slowly toward them, its eyes 
like balls of fire. When within a few 
yards it stopped, its tail waving from side 
to side or gently beating the path. It 
crouched lower. With a cool head and 
steady hand, considering his youth. Nig 
leveled the old musket and fired. The 
fierce creature was in the very act of 
springing when the report of the musket 
rolled out among the hills. It sprang. 
Oliver was borne to the ground. The 
paw of the fierce beast was on his breast, 
its hot breath in his face. But it was the 
last act of the savage animafis life. Even 
as its fiery eyes fiashed above the little 
hero, its limbs trembled and it fell to the 
ground. The “ han’ full o’ buck-shot” 
had fulfilled its mission. The panther 
was dead. 

When Nig saw his friend fall, he gave 
him up for lost and was trying to aim a 
blow with the musket when the animal 
fell. In wild fear he raised the bright 


— 97 — 


head and wiped the blood from the pale 
face. Timothy crawled to Oliver’s side, 
his anxiety overcoming his pain and fear. 
Soon Oliver regained consciousness, when 
it was found that the panther’s claw had 
cut a long gash from the point of his 
shoulder down across his breast. Nig 
bound up the wound, which was not dan- 
gerous, though it gave him pain for some 
time. In a short time Oliver was able to 
walk, and they all started home again. 
The panther was fastened to a pole and, 
on the shoulders of the boys was carried 
to the village. When they arrived there 
the sun had set. 

In passing one of the two or three 
stores of the place, the adventures of the 
nutting party first became known. The 
news flew rapidly. Before long, everyone 
in the village and vicinity had heard that 
‘‘the Niggins boy had shot a painter.” 

Nig found himself a hero. But when 
anyone praised him, the generous fellow 
answered : 

“ It was all owin’ to Oliver. If I hadn’t 
a seen him a facin’ the brute, I don’t be- 


7 


— 98 — 


lieve I’d a turned back. He’s got more 
grit than half a dozen like me. I’ll tell 
you he’s a plumb brick an’ I’m a goin’ to 
stand by ’im.” 


CHAPTER VII 


The Shipwkecked Merchant 

A few years before Mr. Sumley went to 
teach his first term at Maxtone’s Point, 
there lived a happy family far in the sun- 
ny Southland. In one of the most aris- 
tocratic quarters of the Crescent City, sur- 
rounded by a beautiful grove of magno- 
lias, stood their splendid mansion. Theirs 
was a home of ease, love and happiness. 
Here lived a young man, his wife, his 
only son, and his white-haired father. Be- 
sides these, there was the usual large com- 
pany of servants, slaves living their light 
happy lives. It would be hard to find a 
family who lived more for one another. 

The old man and his son were mer- 
chants. The family had been merchants 
and warriors for generations. They were 
now about to engage in a mercantile en- 


— 100 — 


terprise much greater than any they had 
yet undertaken. Their entire commer- 
cial strength together with considerable 
borrowed capital was engaged in it. The 
hazard was so great, it was decided that 
the younger man should give the enter- 
prise his personal care. This meant a 
voyage to lands beyond the sea. Full of 
hope, he took his wife with him, but left 
his son with the grandfather, for the old 
man could not endure to be left all alone. 

How the magnolias seemed to sigh that 
day when the white-haired man and the 
bright-haired boy returned from the fare- 
well to the dear ones whom they might 
never see again ! As they strolled hand- 
in-hand that evening, the boy wondered 
why the birds sang sadly and the magno- 
lias talked in whispers. What a great, 
round, empty world it seemed, with no 
one in it but his grandfather and himself ! 
His mother and father seemed to be in 
another world into which the poor, lone- 
some child could not think himself That 
night and many more the little boy slept 
on a pillow wet with tears. 


— 101 


Long and patiently the grandfather 
waited. At last, a letter came from his 
son. It was mailed from the port of a 
foreign land. After its message of love, 
it bore the news that the enterprise had 
resulted much more favorably than they 
had hoped. Their fortune had almost 
doubled. He said that the business was 
all disposed of and that he should sail in 
a short time for his native shores. 

Joy came back to the splendid home. 
The servants no longer moved about the 
house with soft steps and anxious faces. 
With bright anticipation all awaited the 
coming of the good ship. 

The weeks grew into months and still 
she did not come. With dread they 
waited. The months grew to years and 
still she came not. The grandfather’s 
heart seemed to die within him. He 
could scarcely bear the boy away from 
him for a moment now. 0 ! the long, 
quiet evenings they sat hand-in-hand on 
the wide piazza of the silent house ! 

And now the creditors began to close 
in, like harpies, sapping the life of a heart 


— 102 — 


already almost lifeless. Two traits of the 
old man’s character, his honor and his 
pride, yet burned with an undiminished 
flame. Swayed by these, he gave up all. 
The ancient home which had been the 
property of the family for generations, 
the business houses, the slaves, all were 
given to the creditors. After everything 
had been settled, a few thousands re- 
mained. These, with one old slave almost 
as old as the grandfather himself, were 
all that remained of the once proud for- 
tune. 

It seemed to him that he could not en- 
dure to remain among scenes so full of 
bitter memories. In the despair of his 
heart, he wished only to forget and be 
forgotten. He went away, taking his 
grandson and the old slave with him. 
Where he went, only the old family law- 
yer knew. It is so easy to be forgotten, 
so impossible to forget. By stepping aside 
for one moment, one runs a fearful risk 
of being forgotten; a thousand years 
would be too short a time for him to for- 
get. 


— 103 


The months rolled on. 

One autumn day, when the sun in its 
splendor fell caressingly upon the placid 
bosom of the Father of Waters,’^ a gen- 
tleman and lady crossed the gang-way of 
a stately vessel, and took their way with 
hurried step to the mansion among the 
magnolias. Their faces were browned as 
if from long exposure to a tropical sun. 
It was the long lost merchant and his 
wife returning to father and son ; return- 
ing safe from the fury of wind and wave 
after having suffered ship-wreck on 
the coast of an uninhabited island. For- 
tunately, little goods and few lives were 
lost. The strong chest which contained 
the valuable papers and wealth of the 
merchant was cast up on the shore by the 
sea and recovered. 

When they reached the house, judge of 
their disappointment aud pain on finding 
it occupied by strangers. The merchant 
asked no questions and was wise enough 
not to reveal his name. But he resolved 
that, if possible, he would buy back the 
old home again before the sun set; then 


— 104 — 


he would find his father if he were yet 
alive. 

Leaving his wife at a hotel, he went 
immediately to the office of the old law- 
yer who had for many years been the legal 
adviser of his father. The merchant was 
oppressed with man}^ fears. He was al- 
most afraid to meet the old attorney on 
account of the news he might be com- 
pelled to hear. 

On presenting himself, he was immedi- 
ately recognized and greeted as one re- 
turned from the dead. Soon each was in 
possession of the story of the other. The 
merchant’s heart swelled for joy, when he 
learned that his father and son were alive 
and well. 

Steps were immediately taken to buy 
the old home and settle other claims by 
which property had gone out of the fam- 
ily name. The lawyer had kept trace 
of all the slaves that had been sold, and 
at once, on the expressed wish of the 
merchant, he set about buying them back. 

Before the sun set that night, the old 
home with its beautiful grove of magno- 


— 105 


lias, and known as “ Idlefield,” was again 
in the family which had so long owned 
and loved it. Arrangements were made 
to have everything restored as quickly as 
possible to its former order. 

The following morning the merchant 
set out in his own private pleasure boat 
to find his father. 

❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ 

On returning from the adventure with 
the panther Oliver carefully concealed 
every evidence of his hurt, before reach- 
ing home. He feared that should his 
grandfather see the blood, he Avould be 
needlessly alarmed. 

Supper had long been prepared when 
he arrived and the two old men were 
awaiting his return. 

''You must have had a long tramp of 
it, my boy,” said the grandfather. 

" We have been far into the hills,” said 
Oliver, taking a seat as far as possible 
from the light. 

"You may serve up the supper, Ag. 


— 106 — 


Oliver must be hungry after his long 
walk/’ 

The old servant bustled about, attend- 
ing to his duties. 

The pain of the wound on Oliver’s 
breast, by reason of inattention, was be- 
ginning to be severe. 

'' Grandpa.” 

The old man turned quickly and looked 
keenly at the boy. Oliver had become 
so much a part of his very life, that he 
had learned to detect the slightest shade 
of feeling expressed in word, look, or man- 
ner. He felt, rather than heard, the 
slight shade of anxiety in the loved voice. 

What is it, my son ? ” 

‘‘ You must not be alarmed, grandpa. 
I received a very slight hurt to-day.” 

0, my child ! I hope it is only slight.” 

Oliver now began to expose the wound. 
The grandfather tried to help but his 
hand trembled too much. Uncle Ag, 
with frightened face, but a hand almost 
as gentle as a mother’s might have been, 
laid bare the ugi}^ gash on the tender 
shoulder and breast. 


107 — 


“De Lawd hab mussy!” exclaimed the 
old servant. 

'‘My poor, poor boy!” exclaimed the 
grandfather. 

The hurt was not serious but, judging 
by the manner in which the two old men 
hurried around and marking the look of 
concern, one would have supposed Oli- 
ver’s life to be in immediate danger. The 
wound was soon dressed by the ready 
hands of Uncle Ag. 

" How did it happen ? ” the grandfather 
asked. 

"The panther sprang upon me.” 

"The panther! I did not suppose there 
were any to be found in this vicinity. I 
fervently thank God that your life was 
saved. The panther is a fierce beast. I 
wish you would tell me all about it.” 

Oliver related the adventure. Consid- 
ering the honorable and brave share he 
had in the dangerous encounter, his own 
name was little mentioned though the 
name of Nig was coupled with all the 
praise that he could give it. 

The next Monday, Timothy came to 


— 108 — 


school on crutches, a rude pair which his 
father had made for him. That a marked 
change had come over the boy, any one 
could see. 

At noon, when all had left the room 
except Mr. Sumley and himself, Timothy 
hobbled up to the master’s desk. 

‘'Mr. Sumley, I know that what I’m a 
goin’ to tell you now will make you hate 
me, but after all that’s happened, I can’t 
do without tellin’ you no longer.” 

The boy was much excited. The mas- 
ter suspected what was coming but thought 
best not to aid him by any questions. 

“You may be mistaken,” he said. “Per- 
haps I shall not hate you, but may re- 
spect you the more. I shall be sure to do 
so if you have that to tell me which is 
true and manly.” 

“ I didn’t want to tell on myself that 
evenin’ out there in the road. Nig made 
me,” the boy desperately blurted out. 
“ An’ sence Oliver stood between me and 
that painter as would of eat me up if he 
hadn’t, I aint felt good at all a thinkin’ 
how oncommon selfish I’ve been.” 


— 109 


The tears were in the boy’s dark eyes 
now. The master saw that a chord had 
been set to vibrating in the boy’s heart, 
whose music was likely to awaken the 
slumbering germs of manhood. 

have known about this all along,” 
said the master, and so far from hating 
you for what you have said, I would not 
have thought well of you had you done 
otherwise. I think you have now acted 
in a manly manner. You are now free 
to go upon the playground when you 
please. I feel sure that I can now trust 
you to help maintain the honor of our 
school.” 

Timothy was pleasantly surprised. He 
found the dreaded task of confessing 
more easy than he had expected. He 
found that it is always easy to do right if 
one goes about it earnestly. It is trying 
to make wrong seem right that is hard. 
Nothing is so royal as loyalty to truth. 
He limped to the playground carrying a 
clear conscience in his bosom — something 
he had rarely done before. He was heart- 
ily welcomed. 


-no- 


Oliver was not at school that day. His 
grandfather could ;not bear the thought 
of being away from him while his hurt 
was still painful. 

That evening, Nellie carried a note to 
Oliver. It was a very queer looking note. 
It was written on a very soiled fragment 
of copy-book and read as follows : 

deer Oliver [I am *sorry you got hurt. I am 
sorry I let you be made stay in I ought of told 
sooner. Ive bin awful selfish I hope youl fergive 
me Tim Snidehy. 


Oliver was astonished and pleased on 
reading the note. It gave him a much 
higher opinion of the boy whom he had 
little more than pitied before. 

“ We all missed you to-day, Oliver,” 
said Nellie. 

“ I am glad to know that I was missed. 
I think I shall not get to school to-mor- 
row either,” said the boy, pleased to see 
his little friend. 

Does your wound hurt you so much? ” 

“ It is not that, Nellie. Grandpa does 


— Ill — 


not like to let me go unless I am entirely 
well. The hurt does not pain me very 
much. It was only a scratch.” 

“ O, Oliver, my father and everybody 
else says you are a hero ! It was a brave 
thing to stand up before that awful pan- 
ther ! I could not bear to touch it even 
after it was dead. I don’t see how you 
could do it.” 

I did only what was right. I could 
not leave even an enemy, much less a 
schoolmate, in such a terrible place. I 
did nothing more than many other boys 
would have done.” 

O, Oliver ! I think it was brave and 
manly. I do not know of any one else 
at all who would have been so brave. My 
father says the neighborhood ought to be 
proud of you.” 

Oliver was in confusion. He could not 
think of any suitable reply to make, so 
stood silent. Of a truth, Nellie’s simple, 
warm praise was enough to abash almost 
any modest boy. Her complete artless- 
ness, however, relieved her words from the 
appearance of flattery. Though confused. 


— 112 — 


the generous boy was more pleased than 
he would care to own. 


CHAPTER VIII 


Nellie Dieects a Stranger to the 
Robertaine Cottage 

A few evenings after Nellie brought 
the letter to Oliver, which he answered 
in a very polite manner and returned by 
the same hand, a well-dressed, fine-look- 
ing gentlemen stopped at Mr. Neff’s gate. 
He inquired if they “ could kindly direct 
him to the home of an old gentleman 
named Godfrey Robertaine.” 

Why, yes,” said Mrs. Neff. Mr. 
Robertaine lives but a short distance from 
here. Nellie, my little daughter, shall 
run along and show you the way.” 

Thanking the good woman, the man 
followed the little girl. 

^‘Are you much acquainted with the 
Robertaine family, my child?” said the 


man. 


— 114 — 


''I am well acquainted with Oliver/^ 
answered the child. 

'' Oh ! you know Oliver, then, do you? ” 
Everybody knows Oliver, sir. Why, 
he’s the hoy that wasn’t afraid to stand 
up before the panther.” 

Nellie spoke with spirit. A pleased 
light shown in the gentleman’s splendid 
eyes. On being requested, the little girl 
told the story. The face of her listener 
betrayed the more than common interest 
he took in the story of Oliver’s heroism. 
As the story drew to a close, they neared 
the cottage. 

The evening shadows were beginning 
to fall as they approached. 

The three inmates of the cottage were 
employed as usual ; the grandfather read- 
ing, Oliver at his lessons. Uncle Ag busy 
with household cares. 

Suddenly Uncle Ag paused. He stood 
in fixed attention. He thought he heard 
a step which he recognized. He was al- 
most sure he knew the step. A knock 
sounded at the door. With trembling 
limbs which almost refused to support 













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THE RETURN OF OLIVER’S FATHER. 





— 115 — 


him, Uncle Ag approached the door and 
threw it open. There stood the young 
merchant of the great house among the 
magnolias of the Crescent City. 

‘‘Marse Oliver ! Bless de Lawd ! ’’ 

My son ! My son ! ’’ 

0, my father I My father ! ’’ 

Uncle Ag, the grandfather and Oliver 
exclaimed almost in the same breath. 

In glad joy, the frail old man and the 
bright-haired boy were clasped in the 
strong, loving arms of the returned son 
and father. After the long bitter years 
what supreme happiness to meet again ! 
To a broken-hearted father, the sea had 
given back a son ; to a broken-hearted 
son, the sea had given back a father. 

Unless his pen were a sunbeam, his 
ink a tear, who could describe that re- 
union. It was something pathetic and 
beautiful to see the white head of the 
father bowed on the manly breast of his 
son. Care and poverty should not any 
more distress the dear old heart. And 
with what a world of tenderness was Oli- 
ver clasped in his father’s arms. Nor 


— 116 — 


was Uncle Ag forgotten. He had settled 
into a chair, a look of perfect happiness 
glowing in his old face. When the greet- 
ing of those nearer to him was over, the 
young man turned to the old servant. 
Uncle Ag had been almost as a father to 
him and his wife, and had been his nurse. 

‘‘Bless de Lawd! Bless de Lawd!’’ 
cried the old servant, his arms around the 
man he had loved as a son. “ I knowed 
you’d come back! I knowed you’d come 
back to yer old Uncle Ag 1 I tole Marse 
Godfrey you’d come an’ now you’ve come! 
Bless de Lawd ! ” 

Nellie had stood all this time looking 
upon the scene as though she could hard- 
ly understand the situation. She readily 
comprehended the fact, though, that Oli- 
ver’s father had come. This was enough 
to give her great pleasure. Once she had 
asked Oliver something about his father 
and the poor boy had burst into tears. 
Nellie had thought of the circumstance 
a good many times. It had always made 
her tenderly sorry for him. 

Godfrey Robertaine, all the stately dig- 


— 117 — 


nity gone out of his fine face, the tears of 
joy running down his cheeks, approached 
the little girl. 

^^God bless little Nellie, who showed 
my son the way to his father,'’ he said, 
laying his trembling hand on her 
head. 

'' I ’m glad Oliver's father has come. 
It is an awful thing to have no father,” 
said the little girl, earnestly. '' But it is 
late now and I must go home.” 

“It is dark,” said Oliver. “I will go 
with you.” 

The two went away together and Oliver 
soon returned. He could not long stay 
away from his new-found parent. 

“ My son,” said the grandfather, “ I am 
now going to ask a question which fear 
has kept me from asking before. You 
have not yet told us of Oliver's mother, 
dear Margery.” 

“ Margery is alive and well. She sits 
to-night in the dear old home among the 
magnolias and thinks the time long till 
she shall see her son,” answered the young 
man. 


— 118 — 


0, father, let us go to her at once ! 
cried Oliver. 

But, my son, the old home is in the 
hands of strangers. I gave it up months 
ago. The slaves are scattered. We three 
are alone left to welcome you,’’ exclaimed 
the grandfather, bitterly. 

I am glad to tell you, father, that 
Tdlefield’ is now the unincumbered prop- 
erty of Godfrey Robertaine, who so long 
owned and loved it. Furthermore, every- 
thing is fast being restored just as he 
left it.” 

Tears of silent joy were flowing down 
the old grandfather’s cheeks. Oliver sat 
by his father’s side, his father’s arm about 
him, his fair blue eyes flxed upon his 
father’s face. 

The fortune you consigned to the 
mercy of wind and wave,” the son con- 
tinued, has more than doubled. Hence- 
forth, nothing but peace and happiness 
need come into your life. Uncle Ag, lis- 
ten — I have that to tell which you will 
like to hear. The household of dear 
^ Idlefleld ’ is being restored as fast as pos- 


— 119 — 


sible. When you return home, you will 
be greeted by all your old companions. 
What do you think of that, old friend?” 

'' Uncle Ag t’ink bless de Lawd, Marse 
Oliver ! My ole heart ’mos’ too full oh joy 
to Stan’ any mo’. I ’spect it bust clean 
wide open if you tells me any mo’, Marse 
Oliver.” 

Hearts were too full that night for 
much sleep. They sat up till a late hour 
reviewing the events of the past. The 
merchant gave an account of his ship- 
wreck, the life on the wild island, the 
manner in which they were rescued, 
which caused Oliver’s eyes to shine with 
interest. Then the events which took 
place at home after he had sailed were 
told. Thus the time flew fast. Before 
they realized it the hour was late. 

Because of the dear mother who anx- 
iously awaited her son and because of the 
yearning desire to see the old home again, 
it was decided to go as soon as possible. 
They began that night to prepare. 

The next morning Oliver went to the 
school to get his books. The news of his 


— 120 — 


father’s arrival had preceded him. By 
some means, too, it had become known 
that his father was very rich. His school- 
mates gathered around him in genuine 
sorrow on hearing that he was to leave 
that afternoon. 

To own the truth, Oliver did not turn 
his back on the humble school-house 
without regret. Here he had passed 
through some trying experiences. From 
being the least respected and appreciated 
he had grown to be regarded with great 
favor. Not without a sense of pleasure 
are such reflections borne in upon the 
mind. After all, people love the scenes 
which try their integrity. 

That afternoon when they arrived at 
the river side where they were to embark 
in the merchant’s small steamboat which 
had brought him from home, Oliver’s 
schoolmates were all there to see him off. 
Mr. Sumley was there, too. 

The boat was named “Margery,” in 
compliment to Oliver’s mother, and was 
used for private purposes of pleasure. 
Oliver had taken many a ride on the 


— 121 — 


beautiful craft. Like other possessions of 
the Robertaine estate, it had been given 
up when misfortune came, but it was one 
of the very first things recovered. The 
sight of the “ Margery’^ was one of the 
first pleasant surprises of the many in 
store for Oliver and his grandfather. 
As the boat steamed gracefully up to the 
platform Uncle Ag was delighted to see 
that some of his old companions were 
managing it. 

Oliver shook hands with each of his 
friends before stepping on the boat. Mr. 
Sumley’s farewell was full of good advice 
and good wishes, though he said it was 
quite unnecessary to advise one who had 
lived so well as Oliver had. It was hard 
for Oliver to leave Nig. The generous 
hearted, impulsive fellow had won a very 
warm place in his heart. Partings be- 
tween children are of few words but, 
oh, how full of feeling ! Probably Nig 
had never in his life felt so solemn as 
now. 

Oliver took Nellie’s hand last. Little 
Nellie did not conceal the feelings with 


— 122 — 


which she parted for the last time, as she 
supposed, from the boy who had been so 
gentle and so much her friend. Oliver 
said something at the last, though what 
it was he never could remember. It is a 
kind of awkward thing, after all, to part 
from those we love. 

The boat moved away. Oliver was 
gone. His friends stood on the bank 
waving hands and handkerchiefs. As 
the pretty boat glided away, they could 
see Oliver standing in the stern, his bright 
hair blowing in the wind. At last a 
bend in the river was reached and the 
fair, bright head disappeared. 

Mr. Sumley and his pupils went slowly 
and thoughtfully back to the school- 
house. Somehow the school was very 
quiet for the rest of the day. And the 
master’s voice was so soft and gentle. 
Even the song of the birds which floated 
in at the open windows seemed harsh 
and out of place. When recess came, 
not one went out to play but all gath- 
ered in groups about the master and 
talked in subdued tones, as children will 


— 123 — 


talk sometimes with their mother by the 
pale fire light after the evening shadows 
have fallen. 

During a long life the master carried 
out his “ kindness policy,” and had the 
pleasure, in after years, of seeing Timothy 
Snideby become a man of considerable 
learning and usefulness. 

Mr. Sumley rose gradually into public 
favor, filling many important positions 
in his chosen profession. He finally lo- 
cated in a beautiful town on the Ohio 
and the charming lady who presided over 
his pretty home was once the fairest 
daughter of Maxtone’s Point. And the 
two halves of the little shell which Susie 
had picked up on the walk from the 
river that beautiful moonlight night still 
fresh in Mr. Sumley’s memory, lay side 
by side in his parlor. 

It must be confessed that Oliver turned 
away from the associations of Maxtone’s 
Point, especially from those in which the 
friendship of Nellie and Nig were con- 
cerned, with greater reluctance than 
would be expected of a boy on his way 


— 124 — 


to meet a long lost mother. He resolved 
in his heart that he would sometime come 
again. 

The trip home was very pleasant but 
quite uneventful. 

At the wharf in New Orleans where the 

Margery ” usually anchored, a colored 
boy sat with his feet dangling lazily in 
the water. He was one of the servants 
of the Robertaine’s, posted there by 
his mistress to bring her the earliest 
news of the arrival of her husband’s 
boat. The boy was seen there for several 
days. 

On^ day the usually listless fellov/ 
sprang suddenly to his feet and gazed 
eagerly up the river. Sure enough, there 
was the “Margery” gracefully approach- 
ing. The boy waited just long enough to 
make out two gray-haired old men and 
a bright-haired boy. Then he darted 
away, almost bursting with the news he 
had to tell. Nearly breathless from his 
run the boy tumbled into the room of 
his mistress. 

“ Marse Godfrey, Marse Oliver an’ Un- 


— 125 — 


cle Ag, dey’s all a cominV’ panted the 
boy. 

Did you see them, Happy ? ’’ 

“ Seed ’em wid dese berry two eyes, 
Missus.” 

“And was little Oliver there, too?” 
Anxiously inquired the mother. 

“ He big Oliver now. Missus. He dere 
sho’ but he big boy now — mos’ as big as 
Happy.” 

The words of the simple hoy brought 
the fond mother to a recollection of the 
long time that had flown by since her 
eyes had rested upon her son. She placed 
herself by a window to watch for her 
loved ones. 

In a little while the gate was flung open 
and a handsome boy with bright hair 
came flying up the wide walk. She could 
not restrain herself but ran to meet him. 
0, the sweet joy ! Long lost mother and 
long lost son were once more in each 
other’s arms. 

Soon the other loved ones were met 
and greeted. The old home was home 
once more. The sorrows of the past were 


— 126 — 


no more remembered. The present was 
golden. 

Uncle Ag found all his former compan- 
ions restored to their old home. To say 
that these simple creatures were happy 
and contented would but faintly describe 
their excessive joy. 

That evening, the re-united family 
walked about the grounds of dear Tdle- 
field.’ Their hearts were at peace. The 
happiest family in all the great Crescent 
City was to be found that night under the 
whispering magnolias. 


The End. 








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